


Through the Dark Tide of Memory

by scifigrl47



Category: Pacific Rim (2013), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Author has mental problems, F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-27
Updated: 2013-11-16
Packaged: 2017-12-21 13:00:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 60,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/900607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scifigrl47/pseuds/scifigrl47
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As the Human/Kaiju war drags on, with no end in sight, the occupants of the Malibu Shatterdome have come to be known, worldwide, as the Avengers.  No matter how many Jaegers fall, how many battles are lost around the Pacific rim, the Avengers will always come to the rescue.</p><p>Until, of course, there's no one left...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It's Kara's fault.
> 
> I loved Pacific Rim, and everyone knows I love the Avengers, so have my first crossover style AU. I've likely made some mistakes with the world of Pacific Rim. I'm going to be honest, I don't much care. If that sort of thing bothers you, this might not be the story for you. Some details are changed and some things are going to be different.
> 
> I am jamming a lot of Marvel characters in here, in various roles. I tried to list only characters with speaking roles or primary spots in the lineup, but there will be quite a few cameos in the background. 8)
> 
> Trigger Warnings: Extended discussion of previous death, nightmares, loss of loved ones and grief. Canon appropriate injury and medical problems, discussion of blood and death of Kaiju.
> 
> The story begins with depiction of death. Though non-graphic, it is a bit intense. Please use caution with relation to your own comfort level.

He knew what it was to win. Even as he watched the Kaiju stagger, watched it rend the air with teeth and claw, he knew that this was a victory, one last notch on his belt, on their belt, one more hashmark for the human resistance. 

He was laughing, laughing out loud with pure joy, even as the tail ripped free from the ocean, swinging up to slam into the conn-pod.

The hit came from behind, from in front, all at once, cracking his narrow world like an egg in a vise, shattering metal and alloys and plastics and the thin illusion of safety that they had carried. For an instant, he thought that they'd make it, even as the icy air roared in, pummeling his helmet, rocking him in the cradle of his pilot's seat.

But the air tasted like sea salt, sharp and bitter as tears on his lips, and he realized that his helmet's faceplate was shattered, realized that he was ripping free, that his body was tumbling across the floor. His whole world turned on its head, tipping and tumbling in counterpoint to the way he fell, until he couldn't tell which way was up, and he wasn't sure he cared.

His hands scrambled, gloved hands desperately fighting to get a grip on something, anything, but there was salt water on everything, salt water and Kaiju blue, acid and ice coating every surface, death and destruction. He couldn't get a grip, his fingers sliding across metal and plastic and the world twisted beneath his body, beneath his weight and he was sliding, feet and hands and everything failing him.

Another blow, and he couldn't see, he couldn't breathe, shattered bits of his life clattering down as he fell, as he tumbled, his fingers still scraping uselessly against the metal of the floor, and he was falling. He was falling, and he couldn't tell if he was screaming, or it if was the wind, or if it was the monster, the alien horror, or if it was his partner, silent in his head.

But the world was dark and cold and wet and he hit the edge of the world, the edge of everything, and the night was an empty void beyond it. He lashed out, one last attempt, one last try to save his life, and his partner's, and he could hear the screaming now, inside his head. His arm caught, clung, to an exposed spar of metal, and it cut deep, slicing through his drivesuit, through his skin, and he didn't care, he was glad, the pain was something he could understand.

For an instant, he thought it was going to be okay, he could feel the heartbeat in his ears, loud enough to drown out the sea and the storm and the wild wind. He could feel the rain through the shattered faceplate of his helmet, could feel the wires pulling tight, wrenching his head around, but he held on, he clung with all the effort he had left.

One hand was extended to him, and he reached for it, he struggled forward, his fingers grasping in the air.

Then the metal monster beneath him shifted, twisting, in its death throes, and the metal in his hand pulled free. It splintered in his grip, and he was in free fall, into the darkness, into the night, into the storm swept sea.

He screamed Steve's name as the wires in his suit ripped free, breaking the connection, and he fell alone.

Steve Rogers came awake howling his own name.

It took him a long time to remember how to breathe, it took him a long time to separate himself from Bucky, to allow his scattered, damaged brain to force the two memory streams apart, to remember that he hadn't fallen during that battle. He'd been left behind, helplessly pinned to his seat, unable to do anything more than scream as Bucky slipped from the crippled conn-pod of their Jaeger.

He scrubbed his hands over his face, trying to ignore how his fingers were shaking. Tried to regulate his breathing, his heartbeat, but there was no chance, the memories were too raw, too fresh, and his brain remembered what it was to suffocate, to drown. 

The worst part about the nightmares was that for a brief, horrible moment, he wasn't alone any more. He hated it and he was grateful for it, all at once, and he woke up with grief so raw in his chest that he didn't even have the energy to cry. He just struggled to breathe, and waited to forget; waited until the memories faded from raw agony to a throbbing ache. Waited until he could remember that he was singular, that he was alone. And that he was always going to be alone, because he could not bear the drift.

Steve wondered if Tony was awake.

He rolled to his feet, and his legs didn't want to hold him. He grabbed for the wall, using it to push himself along, shoving his weight forward. He made it to the small bathroom and ducked his head into the sink. With a vicious twist of his wrist, he turned on the cold water, full force, and let it sluice over his head and neck.

The cold was a shock to the system, clearing the cobwebs from his brain, forcing him back into the present. He kept his mouth tightly closed, not wanting the sensation of icy water in his mouth, in his nose, shaking the scattered memories back into place. 

The light, almost inaudible knock on the door brought his head around. He snagged a towel with one hand, already moving towards the door as he rubbed briskly at his face and hair. He knew who was waiting for him before he even opened the door, but still, finding Tony standing there, two bo staffs in the crook of one arm and a faint smile on his face, was a relief. Tony didn't have to say a thing; he just arched an eyebrow, and Steve nodded, the panic and strain already melting away. 

"Thanks," he whispered. He slung the towel over his shoulder and caught the staff that Tony tossed to him. Together, they set off through the living quarters, side by side.

Even at this hour, the Malibu Shatterdome wasn't quite still. He could feel the faint vibration through the flooring beneath his feet. Steve was used to it by now, and he knew Tony was, too. Steve had been here for most of his adult life; he'd entered the Ranger program just after the first wave of Jaegers had launched, he and Bucky both. One of the first 'domes to see active use, it was an early adapter and had a benefit none of the others did: Howard Stark. Howard, pilot and designer and engineer, Howard, who poured his family fortune and his company's output into producing Jaegers, into advancing the Jaeger program more than any other one man did.

Howard, who'd died piloting one of his own creations. His name was on the wall of Rangers, lost in the line of duty, along with Bucky's. He'd left behind a magnificent legacy. A base of operations, a full fleet of Jaegers, a huge factory that still produced generic Jaegers for use world wide, and perhaps the most important, his son Tony.

Tony, who'd hit the ground running with his father's legacy and hadn't ever stopped running. It was Tony who'd figured out a way to integrate the arc reactor technology with Jaeger technology, producing Jaegers that were faster, more maneuverable and capable of flight.

It was Tony who'd turned the tide of this war. There might not be any end in sight, but for now, they were holding their own, they were holding their ground. And the Malibu Shatterdome was home to more than a thousand, workers and pilots, support crews and cadets, a rapidly evolving society of people that stood against the oncoming tide of Kaiju.

Steve wondered when, exactly, an active warzone had become the only home that he could imagine. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Tony tapping lightly on the wall with his free hand, and wondered if Tony remembered any other home at all.

Steve, at least, hadn't been raised here.

The gym was empty at this time of morning, even the most dedicated of the new trainees having given in to the need for sleep after a brutal day of punishment. Steve stretched, his body going through the familiar movements by rote as Tony shrugged off his thin sweatshirt, tossing it in a heap beside the mat before he removed his boots. "Bad night?"

"Bad enough," Steve said, rolling his shoulders. "You?"

"Haven't tried to sleep yet." There was a manic note to his voice that was as familiar as the rhythm of his steps to Steve. The two of them had done this more times than he could remember, and he knew every flex of Tony's back, every flicker of his fingers, every skip to his voice. "Alloys aren't performing as expected." He swirled the staff above his head, whip fast and smooth, his hands dancing around the wood as he spiraled through a complicated sequence of steps, his pale feet a blur on the mat.

"You have unreasonably high expectations of metals, Tony," Steve said, his lips twitching. His head tipped to the side, something like a nod. "Actually, you have unreasonably high expectations of everything."

Tony laughed, and for an instant, the stress and tension melted out of his face. "Oh, coming from you, that's fucking rich." He braced the tip of the staff on the mat and snapped his body around, using the pivot point to flip his body up and around and he landed in a crouch, the staff snapping out behind him. "Ready?"

Steve grinned as he brought staff up, around and back down, the blow cracking the air like a whip, but the tip stopped a bare inch from the ground. "Control," he said, and Tony rolled to his feet.

"You talk to much." He shifted back into position, and Steve mirrored him, without a second thought. He took a deep breath, and it was synched up with Tony's breathing by this point, they both knew what the other was about to do, even as they moved. The staffs cracked in mid-air, and again, low and hard, Steve using his greater strength to pull Tony's blow up and away. Tony moved with the flow of the strike, swirling along the length of their staffs, pushing Steve back and out, both of the wooden poles coming up and down, clicking and cracking as they hit, one blow flowing into the next.

Steve was grinning now, his feet moving fast over the mat, Tony's greater speed and maneuverability more than a match for his strength and his reach. He darted back, spinning into the next swing, deflecting it down and out and pressing his advantage, even as Tony's leg snaked in to tangle with his. Using his momentum, Tony flipped backwards, pulling Steve with him, and they rolled, bodies thumping hard against the mat. Steve came up on top, his foot on the mat snug with Tony's hip, his knee pressed in on the other side, his bo pressed lightly on Tony's throat.

"You keep trying that move," he said, his breathing regulated. 

Tony laughed. "One day, I'll get it." Steve pushed himself up, stepping away from Tony, and Tony rolled to his feet. "One-zero. Take stance, Ranger."

Steve shifted his feet, moving his body into position, and brought his staff around, never once breaking eye contact with Tony. Tony was grinning now, manic and brilliant, his cheeks flushed, and his hair a mess. Steve held himself still as Tony began swinging the staff, his hands dancing on the wood, the weapon a blur as he swung it, and himself, in, closer and closer, his feet soundless now, light and careful. The staff flashed towards Steve's head, and at the last possible second, he brought his staff up to deflect it. Laughing, Tony pulled back and struck again, again and again and again, until it was all that Steve could do to keep blocking, faster and faster, his hands darting here and there as he readjusted his grip, his hold, his stance, and he was falling back, one step, then two, and Tony swung hard, his body a little too open, and Steve struck, the blow darting in.

Tony deflected it without batting an eyelash, and swung the staff around, the other end coming to rest against Steve's side. "One-one," he said, and Steve laughed. "You always fall for that," Tony told him, chiding as they broke apart.

"You leave yourself way too open," Steve told him, and they were both moving already, both swinging. The steady, staccato blows of the staffs, one after another, faster and faster, set the rhythm for their feet, and they were moving faster and faster, each sure of the other. Steve let himself go, let himself fight, because Tony matched him, move for move and blow for blow. Faster now, and with more force, until the hits shook his arms to the bone, and he was breathing hard and fast, far too aware of the heat of Tony's body as they collided and sparred and broke apart again.

He swung, hard and fast, and Tony was a second too slow to block him, the blow deflected, not stopped. Steve's staff slammed into the side of his knee, and he went sprawling, his body hitting the mat hard. 

Cursing, Tony tried to push himself up, and Steve was there before he could manage it. He pinned Tony to the ground, one hand heavy on his shoulder. "Stay still," he said, furious with himself. 

Tony huffed out a breath. "It's fine, Cap," he said, but he tilted his head, letting Steve's fingers settle on the throb of his pulse. It was steady and fast under Steve's fingers, the skin hot to the touch. "Really, I just misjudged it."

Steve let out a breath that he hadn't been aware that he'd been holding, his head falling forward as he waited for Tony's pulse to slow. Under his hand, Tony shifted, trying to push himself up again, and Steve let his fingers tighten on his shoulder. "Stay still," he said, and it was the tone he used on his cadets, the one that required immediate, unquestioning obedience.

Of course, this being Tony, it had no effect at all. Tony struggled against his grip, one arm coming up to swat at Steve's bicep. "I am fine," he said, and his face was flushed, his pupils dilated, his skin damp with sweat, but he was giving Steve a look. "Can I sit up now?"

Reluctantly, Steve pulled back, letting him up, his hand landing on Tony's back, supporting him. Tony didn't object. "Dizzy?" Steve asked.

"Nope. Let's go again. Two-one," Tony said, reaching for his staff, and Steve huffed out a sigh.

"Tony-"

Tony brought his staff around and tapped Steve lightly on the top of the head. "Spar with me, or I go back to the drawing board, literally," he said, and Steve reached up to push his staff away, his fingers lingering along the length of the wood, testing the strength of Tony's grip.

He rolled back to his feet, watching Tony as he took his time reclaiming his weapon. "I get any sense that you're not-"

Tony swung, and Steve blocked it. "Back on point, Ranger, or I'll put you on your ass.”

Steve held him in check for an instant, then, with a twist, knocked his staff aside. “You can try,” he said, and that was okay, that was fine. He felt the smile bloom on his features, saw it echoed on Tony's and then they were both moving, the steps as familiar as a dance for which they'd long since memorized the choreography.

Steve marked the passage of time by the steady, ever increasing beat of their sticks, of their feet, of the flow of bodies and breath. He lost himself in the physical, moving faster and faster, and Tony matched him, blow for blow and step for step, and when he fell to one knee, exhaustion swamping him at last, Tony was only a second behind him.

“Son of a bitch,” Tony panted, one fisted hand braced on the mat, his head down, his shoulders flexing with the force of his breathing. “Steve?”

Steve glanced at him. “Yeah?”

Tony tapped him on the head with his staff. “Three-four. I win.” He then promptly keeled over, going spread-eagle on the mat, not seeming to care when Steve burst into laughter.

“I declare you the winner,” Steve said. Grabbing his boots, he muscled them on before he tossed Tony's in his direction. Tony shoved his feet in them but didn't bother with the laces. Steve didn't really blame him. 

He got to his feet and the exhaustion was like a drug now, dragging him down, making it impossible to think, to remember anything more complicated than the path back to his room. He reached down and grabbed Tony's arm, muscling him up and onto his feet, even though they basically ended up propping each other up. “You can't sleep here,” he said, trying to sound stern. “I have students in the morning.”

Tony yawned, but he started moving in the right direction when Steve gave him a nudge. Steve paused for a second to reclaim their weapons and dropped them into the rack as they passed it on the way to the door. “How is the newest class?” Tony asked.

Steve's nose wrinkled. “Young,” he said.

Tony chuckled. “No younger than you were,” he pointed out. “Than I was.” His head hung down, his arm slung over Steve's shoulders. 

“Feels younger.” Steve jolted him to keep him moving. “How's the new design?”

“Can't dedicate any time to it.” Tony's feet shuffled against the floor. “Damn Rangers keep smashing my Jaegers up against the solid mass of giant alien monsters. I'm up to my neck in repairs, and I got Fury breathing down my neck.”

Steve's arm tightened on him. “You can do it.”

Tony gave a snort. “I can. I'm annoyed that I have to.” His head rested on Steve's shoulder. “Sick of fixing the fucking things.” He pulled away from Steve's grip. “I need sleep.” Before Steve could stop him, he ducked down the wrong corridor, heading right for Steve's room. He pushed the door open and wandered inside.

"Go home," Steve said to Tony, who just wobbled his way across the floor. "Hey! You don't live here, you mooch. Go- You have a nicer room than me, can you please just go-"

Tony fell face first into the lower bunk, his body more or less on the mattress, and he let out a happy sigh. His arms latched onto Steve's pillow, drawing it in, and just like that, he was out. Steve rolled his eyes. "Goddammit, Tony, you rat,” he groused, but he did it quietly, because Tony was asleep. Crouching down, he yanked Tony's boots off, shoving his legs onto the bed. With a flick of his wrist, he pulled the blankets up over Tony's still form. "You could at least let me have my-" he said, and Tony grumbled something into the pillow, hugging it tight.

"Yeah, I know, that's a lost cause." Steve leaned against the bedframe, watching the slow, even rise and fall of Tony's back. Reassured, he staggered back to turn off the light.

Under the cover of darkness, Steve pulled off his boots and set them neatly aside, then stripped down to his shorts. It was his damn room, after all. He boosted himself up to the top bunk, and collapsed onto the thin mattress, too exhausted to care. But he could still hear Tony's breathing, soft and even, and he wondered if Tony knew that he couldn't bear to be alone.

Or if Tony just had the same problem.

*

“Gooooood morning, K-Science!” Tony crowed as he strode through the door, two coffee cups in each and and a spring in his step. The latter might've been directly related to the former, but he'd take what he could get at this point.

Bruce Banner raised his head from his microscope, his eyes blurry and his glasses on top of his head. He blinked at Tony, his face scrunching up. “Is it morning?” he asked, scrubbing a hand over his face. His lab coat was a wrinkled mess, the sleeves turned up around his elbows, his tie thrown back over his shoulder.

“Yes, it's morning,” Reed Richards said, scrambling up a few more steps on the ladder that allowed him access to the top of his chalkboards. His pantlegs were covered in chalk dust, streaks of pale white against the black fabric, clear indications where he'd swiped his fingers. He shoved a hand through his hair, disordering the strands, and went back to his calculations.

“What morning?” Betty Ross asked, not looking up from her computer. Her fingers were dancing over the keys, her glasses reflecting the light every so often, hiding her eyes. Her shoulders were hunched forward, almost protectively, over her work, and her hair pulled back into a messy bun that was secured with two pencils. “What day is it, Reed?”

Reed paused, his body swinging out and away from the chalkboard, one hand bracing himself as he considered the question. “A workday.”

“Technically correct, and worrying none the less,” Tony said, shaking his head. Before he could say anything else, Betty reached back and, without looking, snagged one of the coffee mugs out of his hand. He fumbled to keep his grip on the other one. “Hey, that's-” Bruce wandered past, rubbing the back of his neck with one big hand, and took another. “Those... Those were all for me, I don't think you understand,” Tony started, and both of them turned identical exhausted and disinterested looks on him. Tony sighed. “Fine. Don't say I never gave you anything.”

Giving in to the inevitable, he held one of the remaining two mugs out to Reed, who took it without a word, still staring down his figures. “You're welcome,” Tony told him, but Reed didn't seem to notice. “It worries me. It worries me endlessly that I appear to be the person in this room with the most social graces, that is just, that is terrifying.”

“I think we have bigger things to worry about,” Bruce said with a faint smile. He had both hands wrapped around his coffee cup, hoarding the warmth. He had deep, dark circles carved beneath his eyes.

“As long as we're in K-Science, there's always something bigger to worry about.” Betty put her bare feet up on the edge of the desk, tipping her chair back. “Say, I don't know, maybe the Kaiju?”

“There's that.” Tony headed to his drafting table. He had his own office, but he ended up here more often than not. He needed their data, their insights, and, if he was being honest, their company. “Anything new?”

“Reed's re-evaluating the breach,” Bruce said, leaning against the workbench. Reed made a sound of agreement, a little hum under his breath. “I'm still trying to neutralize the Kaiju blue phenomenon in a way that won't make everything more toxic, and Betty-”

“I'm working on a predictive model for landfall,” she said, covering a yawn behind her hand. Her long lashes hung low over her eyes, but her voice was still crisp and even. 

Tony glanced at her. “You're trying to predict Kaiju movements?”

Her chin came up. “I am predicting Kaiju movements.”

“They're animals,” Reed said into his coffee cup. He was scribbling numbers on the chalkboard in front of him, the rapid click of chalk on slate in counterpoint to his words. “There's no predicting the movements of animals.”

“That's completely incorrect,” Betty said, her arms crossing over her chest. “We've predicted the movements of animals since the beginning of human history. Our earliest survival was dependent on us being able to determine just where and how animals were going to move, because they were our food source.”

“Kaiju aren't buffalo or elk,” Reed said.

“No, but they can be predicted,” Betty said, stubborn. 

“Let me see,” Tony said, and she scooted back to her computer, tipping the screen so he could see. He stared at the world map that she brought up.

“See, I've plotted the attacks, from the first landfall in San Francisco, to the most recent Cat-III that went ashore in Ecuador.” Her fingers danced over the keyboard. “They're moving in waves.”

Tony stared at the colored arrows that appeared, one after another, each noted with a date, a name, a category, and an outcome. He frowned as the arrows started to spread, some intersected at sea by Jaegers and their pilots, others slipping ashore before they could be stopped. “Okay,” he said, one hand braced on her desk. “Why?”

“Still working on that,” she said, her mouth twitching up on one side. “If I can determine that answer, I might be able to buy us time to get additional teams in place before the Kaiju start moving. If we know that the next attack will be in Lima, then we can shift Jaegers from Anchorage, be prepared. We can act offensively, rather than defensively.”

“And if you're wrong, then we'll be leaving a city completely undefended,” Reed pointed out.

Betty leaned back in her chair. “If I'm wrong,” she said, accenting the first word. “If. I don't think I am. Or will be.” She stood. “But I need more data. I'm not willing to put lives on the line for it just yet.” She stretched, pulling the pencils from her hair and shaking it out. The brown waves curled over her slim shoulders. “I'm going to see what Aunt May's managed to scrape together for breakfast. Anyone hungry?”

Tony gave Bruce a look. Bruce stared into his coffee cup. “Give me a second to get this,” Tony said, waving a hand at his drafting board. “I'll join you.”

Betty gave him a bright smile. “Meet you down in Mess C, then.” Grabbing her shoes, she headed for the door.

Tony waited until she was gone before he gave Bruce a light smack on the back of the head. “Ow!” Bruce gave him a glare. “What was that for?”

“One of these days,” Tony said, “you're going to have to man up and actually do something other than pine after her. I mean, the world's ending, you could at least tell the smartest, nicest, prettiest, sweetest-”

“I get it, thanks, really, you can stop any time,” Bruce said, pushing himself away from his workbench.

“Woman that you've ever met,” Tony continued, unconcerned with the interruption, “a woman, I might add, that actually likes and admires you, that you would like to, I don't know, I don't know what the hell you've got going on up there in your big brain, but I assume it's like, you want to court her or shit, but you really need to DO SOMETHING. Anything. What do you have to lose?”

Bruce was giving him a look, Bruce was giving him that look, that head tipped forward, eyes looking up LOOK that he managed sometimes. “Do you really,” he said, his voice carefully measured, “really want to get into a discussion about pining after someone?”

Tony saw the trap yawning right in front of his feet, as wide and deep and dangerous as the breach itself and back-pedaled with all due speed. “No, actually, let's not-”

“Because I could really have something to say about you and pining,” Bruce said. He gave Tony a tight lipped smile over the rim of his coffee cup. “About your habit of middle of the night fights with the good Ranger Rogers. About the fact that you-”

“Fine, got it, you can stop any time now,” Tony said.

“Yeah, that's what I thought,” Bruce said, his voice a little too sweet. 

“How, exactly, is it that REED, of all people, is the only one that actually has a love life?” Tony asked, and they both turned to look in Reed's direction.

Reed kicked the rolling ladder along the length of his chalkboard. “Sue asked me out,” he said, not at all concerned. 

“That would explain so much,” Tony said.

“That does explain so much,” Bruce said. “Breakfast?”

“Breakfast,” Tony agreed. “C'mon, let's catch up to Betty, you can wax lyrical about her data results.”

“She's wrong,” Reed said.

“Sue asking him out makes so much sense,” Tony said. “It calls into question Sue's mental status and she might need to be re-evaluated before we can let her pilot my Jaeger any more, but it makes so much sense.”

*

"Again," Steve said, resting his hands easily on the worn wood of his staff. "Teddy, control. You need to rein yourself in, and do not let the speed of the match overwhelm you." He waited until the boy nodded, his face tense. "And Kate. We're going for a touch. Not an actual injury. This is practice, not a life or death fight. Do we understand one another?"

Kate glanced at him, her dark ponytail swinging around her shoulders. "Yes, sir."

Steve gave her a smile, trying to soften the criticism. "This is your partner. When we do these practice rounds, it's to help you get used to moving with another person, moving in tandem, learning someone else's patterns, someone else's rhythm. This is fighting practice, but it's also fighting socialization. If you get into a Jaeger, Kate, the only thing that matters will be the person in the seat next to you. That person will be your entire world, for as long as you're in the drift.” He leaned forward. “You cannot worry about being better than them. You have to be in balance with them.”

He tapped the end of his staff against the mat. "Use this time to come into alignment with your partner." He stepped back, his bare feet silent on the metal floor surrounding the mat. "Find position." He waited until they both shifted into place. He thumped the end of his staff against the floor, and they both moved. A minute later, Teddy hit the ground with a bone jarring thud, and Steve resisted the urge to sigh.

"Again," he said, determined to see this through. "Three-one. This time, let's-"

The wail of the siren brought him up short. The cadets started moving immediately, grabbing their things, fumbling their boots and over shirts back on. "You know the drill," Steve said, pitching his voice to be heard over the alarms. "Those of you with emergency posts, find them. If you do not have an assigned duty for this quarter, head for your designated bunker and await orders." The cadets and trainees were moving briskly and quietly, and Steve added, "I want everyone in place in less than five minutes; our response time is being monitored."

They didn't need to be told that, they never needed to be told that. These prospective Rangers knew that every single thing they did was being noted, every interaction taken into account when it came down to choosing which of them would have the ability to respond to that alarm one day. Most of them never would. And Steve wished it was none. For all their time in the simulator, their studies, their practice, their work, he sometimes wished that he could mark every one of them as being unfit for Jaeger duty. 

He was sick of burying people. When, of course, they had a body to bury.

Out in the corridor, he joined the flow of people, all single minded as they moved towards their goals. The sirens kept wailing, but by now it resulted in sustained rush, instead of panic.

“Rogers!”

Steve paused, stepping to the side to let others pass him. Carol Danvers cut through the crowd, her movement a controlled rush, and everyone got out of her way. Her blonde hair was a wild crest on the top of her head, and she was already dressed in a full drivesuit, blue and red with a gold star against her breastbone. The helmet under her arm had a matching star on the side.

“You being deployed?” Steve asked as Carol fell into step beside him.

“Don't know yet,” she said, but the color was up in her cheeks, her eyes bright and an eager grin on her lips. “You headed for LOCCENT?”

“Yeah.” Mission Control was the best place to keep tabs on the emerging crisis, and even if he wasn't an active duty Jaeger pilot any longer, Steve was still accepted there. He had a range of skills that kept him useful to Hill and Coulson, and if they couldn't put him to work, they were polite enough to ignore him, as long as he kept out of the way.

He didn't know why he felt compelled to stand witness to every single mission that went out, but he suspected that it was just guilt. Guilt and self-loathing, as he watched others run the missions that should've fallen to him.

“Where's Rhodes?” he asked Carol, and her grin stretched a bit wider.

“Taking a nap,” she said, smug about it. “Last time I woke him at the alarms, he was an absolute bear. Figured that if he can't be polite about it, I'll leave him to his own devices and see how he likes that.”

“Cruel,” Steve said, but he couldn't keep his lips from twitching.

“C'mon,” she said, utterly unashamed. “There's no way he's going to sleep through those alarms, and he's a damn bear when he's waking up.”

“Still cruel,” Steve said.

“Damn straight.” They slipped together onto the lift, both of them pushing back against the wall to let the rest of the technical and operational staffers to flood in around them. 

“Hold the doors!”

Steve's hand snapped out, punching the 'door open' button just before they started to close. He held it as Tony scrambled down the last few meters of the corridor and slipped into the lift. He was breathing hard, his eyes brilliant. “Thanks,” he said, juggling a clipboard and a handful of files in his arms before he got everything straightened out, and jammed a protein bar between his teeth. He chewed fast, and as soon as he swallowed, he asked, “What've we got?”

“Cat-III,” Carol said. “That's all I know. If they follow rotation, it'll be War Marvel and Invisible Flame on point with Moon Wasp holding the miracle mile.”

Tony's nose wrinkled. “Not Black Hawk?”

“Barton's got a dislocated shoulder. They patched him up, McCoy's good at doing that, but as long as we have the crews, Fury won't risk him not being at one hundred percent,” Steve explained.

“Also, he doesn't play well with Flame's crew,” Carol added, in an undertone.

“Let's be honest,” Tony said. “It's that half of Flame's crew doesn't play nice with anyone else. Johnny's been a real-”

Steve cleared his throat, and Tony's teeth clicked shut. Steve gave him a chiding look. “Not sure that helps the situation,” he said, his voice quiet. “In fact, pretty sure it doesn't.”

Tony gave him a look, his eyes warm and sharp. “As long as I'm the one who keeps having to patch his damn Jaeger,” he said, “then I get to have an opinion on the fact that he keeps wrecking the damn thing.”

Carol hid a smile by rubbing her chin, and Tony laughed out loud. “I don't ever want to hear anyone say that drifting doesn't affect pilots,” he said, grinning at her. “That is Rhodey. That little gesture, that is all your partner, and you don't even know that you're doing it, do you?”

She shrugged. “He does that kick thing with his foot now, so any affect he's having on me, I'm having it on him, too.”

The lift shuddered to a stop, and Carol slipped through the doors before they even fully opened. Holding back just a bit, Steve glanced at Tony. “You okay?” he asked, his voice soft, almost lost in the shifting of bodies and feet.

Tony's eyes flicked in his direction. “Yeah.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Got a couple of hours of sleep. You?”

“Out like a light.” No more nightmares, no more memories, no more gnawing sense of guilt. He'd just slept, and that was a blessing that came all to rarely these days. 

LOCCENT was packed by the time they made it up there, with Agent Phil Coulson standing in the front of the room, Agent Maria Hill bent over the incoming data, and Marshall Fury standing behind them, his one dark eye missing nothing.

“All right,” Phil called, and the room came to silence in a heartbeat. “We have a Catagory-III, codenamed Sawtooth, moving quick up the Northern coast. It looks like it's aiming to make landfall around Monterey.” He handed a stack of pages to the nearest person, and they made the rounds, people taking one and passing it on. “Speed is up 25% from the average, so we have less than an hour to get in place.”

“We're pulling three teams,” Fury said, his voice calm. “Moon Wasp and War Marvel, you're heading out to provide active support, Los Angeles is short staffed and over budget. Invisible Flame, you're going to hold back and provide protection in the miracle mile.”

“Are you kidding me?” Johnny Storm, already in his blue and white drivesuit, jerked forward, his hands coming up, fisted tight. “We-”

“Thank you, sir,” Sue Storm said, cutting him off with ruthless calm. When her brother turned on her, she met his eyes with a fierce look. “We understand.”

“I-”

“Dismissed,” Fury said, ignoring him. But the set of his jaw made it clear that the insubordination hadn't been overlooked, it was just shelved for now.

Steve shook his head, and Tony gave a light snort. “Kid's going to get himself, and his sister, tossed from the corps,” he said. Pushing away from the wall, he glanced at Steve. “You sticking around?”

Steve took a deep breath. “Yeah. Not local, but close enough.”

Tony jammed the fact sheet into his back pocket and put his hands in his front pockets. “As much as I'd like to,” he said, his mouth tight, “I've got work to do. Foxtrot Ultra needs repairs, again, if we're going to make use of it.”

Steve's jaw locked. Through the crowd, he could see Wade Wilson, the pilot a spastic twitch of movement that seemed unstable somehow. Even from this distance, he could see Wade's mouth moving, talking to someone no one else could hear. “Didn't know our local mercenary was back,” he said at last. Wade didn't have a Shatterdome of his own, he and his frequently damaged Jaeger skipped back and forth up and down the Pacific coast, ending up in Malibu more often than not. Mostly because Tony was the only one who could fix his Jaeger. And nearby Los Angeles was one of the few Shatterdomes that would still supply him with a partner.

Most of the others were too protective of their pilot candidates to risk a drift with the pilot that the experienced crews called the Rip Tide, because he would drag you right under.

“His latest drift partner lasted one mission,” Tony said, his shoulders hunched forward. “Left the program entirely. Scuttlebutt is that he's still got problems with talking to himself.”

Steve watched Wade move. He wondered, sometimes. If Wade was talking to himself at all. Or if the voices in his head were his dead partners, both of them, the two who'd died in the seat next to him, still connected, still drifting. Maybe they were still around, still clinging to Wade's brain with more then memories. Sometimes, he wondered if Wade just couldn't bear to admit that they were dead at all.

And talked to those who were now left behind in the drift.

“Two dead partners,” Steve said, his voice quiet. “Three sets of memories in the drift. For an inexperienced pilot, it might as well be a death sentence.”

“And none of the experienced ones will get into a conn-pod with him,” Tony agreed. He shook his head. “Anyway, I've got repairs to make.”

“Thank you,” Steve said, giving him a faint smile.

“Hang in there, Steve. And do me a favor?”

“What?”

“Don't let any of your cadets near Wilson.”

“Don't worry,” Steve said, his voice low. “That's not ever going to happen.”


	2. Chapter 2

"I swear to fucking God, Parker, if you do not have a fucking harness on your fucking ass in the next thirty fucking seconds, I will glue the damn thing to you!" Tony yelled upwards. 

Peter, caught in the act of swinging from the Jaeger's massive hip joint, flinched. "I'll get right on that, sir," he called back, his hard hat sliding off kilter on his head. He reached up to shove it back into place, his grip never faltering.

"Now!" Tony shook his head, turning his glare on Thor. "Goddammit, don't let my techs kill themselves, would you please?"

The Shatterdome's head of construction and repair shrugged, his huge shoulders rising and falling. He had his massive hammer tossed over his shoulder, the weight not seeming to bother him in the least. "He has a great skill for climbing," Thor said, with a broad, warm grin. "You worry too much."

"I do not know how you manage not to kill half your repair teams," Tony groused at him. 

"Too much work to be done to let them die." Thor swung his hammer to the floor, and it shook the paneling. Thor reached up, scraping his long blonde hair back into a stubby ponytail at the nape of his neck. "No dying on shift. We have rules. There are Jaegers to fix."

"Great. I'm sure that's very helpful. Fantastic. PARKER!"

"Yeah?" Peter landed a few feet away, folding into an easy crouch. "What's up, boss?" He stayed low, his legs bent, his weight balanced on his toes and his arms resting on his knees. Like all of the Spiders, his jumpsuit was bright red, to make him easy to spot when he was working, and there was a black outline of a spindly arachnid printed across his back. Fearless and fast, all of the Spiders thrived on working as high as they could get, running tools and supplies for the stationary crews and maneuvering through gaps too small for most of the others.

"How are the relays?"

"Fucked." Peter shrugged when Tony gave him a look. "What. You asked."

"He means," Jessica Drew said, repelling easily down the side of the Jaeger, "that we lost several key systems, but we'll be able to get it back up and running in..." She kicked off, swinging away from metal surface and catching the cord with her leg, suspending herself upside down just above them. The oldest of the Spiders, she was their de facto leader, even though she was barely out of her teens herself. "What do you think, Peter?”

Peter took his hard hat off, scrubbing at his damp forehead with one arm. “Six hours?”

“Two hours or so," Jessica said, her dark hair hanging down, her grin brilliant. “Max.”

“Oh, c'mon!” Peter said, groaning. “Don't listen to her!”

"I don't know. She's showing sense. She's wearing her harness," Tony pointed out, and Peter shrugged again.

"She's slow," he said, and then immediately had to dodge as Jess swung herself around and lashed out with one foot. Laughing, Peter scrambled out of range. Tony snagged the kid by the back of his coveralls.

"We need it going now," Tony said, hefting him back up. Peter gave him a salute and grabbed Jessica's hand, letting her haul him up the side of the robot. "Harness!" Tony yelled after him.

"Picking on the maintenance crews again, Mr. Stark?"

He glanced over his shoulder. "Know what, Pepper? No. I am not picking on the maintenance crews. I'm wondering when we started running a baby-sitting service."

Pepper didn't even look up from her clipboard, her attention focused on her schedules and requisitions. Tony waited, rather impatiently for her to finish whatever she was working on. She glanced up the length of the Jaeger's impressive frame. "It's war,” she said, her voice gentle. “And they've got to go somewhere.”

Tony shoved a finger in her direction. "Sixteen year olds should not be climbing the outside of my Jaegers. This is not a playground."

Thor chuckled under his breath. "The Spiders do better work than most twice their age," he said. "Leave them be."

“Don't worry, Thor,” Pepper said with a faint smile. Her lips were bright red, and somehow, she managed to make her standard issue jumpsuit look chic. “He's all bark and no bite.”

“Ouch,” Tony told her. “Do you have-”

Pepper held out a small plastic bag. “Yes.”

He gave it a look. “Why are you giving this to me? I don't want this.”

“You ordered it,” she said, sweetly.

“Can I have my design schematics, Pepper?” She just gave him a look and continued to hold out the plastic sack. “This is, this is not what I want.”

“How odd,” Pepper said sweetly. “That is completely different from what you were telling me last week, when you were hounding me to get just this. So, here it is.” She shoved it in his direction. “You're welcome.”

Thor chuckled, and Tony gave him a look. “You know what? No comments from the peanut gallery.”

Thor tried to look innocent. “I said nothing, my friend, nothing at all.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Tis amusing, to speak true, to see you so wary of our smallest workers.”

Tony snatched the bag from Pepper, and still glaring in Thor's direction, called out, "Itsy bitsy spider! Front and center!"

"That's not nearly as funny as you think it is, jefe." Anya Corazon slid down the ladder, her feet braced on the outside rails to control her descent. She bounced over, her hair pulled back in two pigtails at the crown of her head. Oversized goggles hung down at her neck and she was grinning when she came to a stop in front of Tony. Drawing herself up, she gave him a fairly good approximation of a salute. "Sir, yes, sir?"

"I'm working with children. My work crews are full of children, how is this my life, I mean, war is one thing, but I cannot believe-" Tony groused to no one in particular, and behind him, Pepper cleared her throat. "I'm getting to it," he told Pepper, who arched a perfect eyebrow and gave a meaningful look at her watch. "Fine." Tony turned back to Araña, who was waiting, if not patiently, than as patiently as she was capable of waiting. Tony tossed her the pouch. "Good job on translating for the visiting pilots."

She snagged the pouch from mid-air a flicker of her quick fingers, and in an instant, she recognized what it was. A grin, wide and bright and childish, broke over her face, like the sun coming out, and her eyes shot up to meet his. “You went black market?”

“Of course not,” Tony said, wedging his hands in his pockets. “That would be illegal. And against the rules.”

Miles Morales, their other junior spider, took a seat on the edge of the catwalk, his legs dangling down as he folded his arms on the lower rung of the railing. His black and red gloves were bright against the silver metal. “And we all know you always follow the rules,” he said, and Tony considered calling him on the very cheek of that statement. However, since he was right, it seemed kind of petty.

Miles leaned forward, his dark eyes dancing. “What'd you get?”

She grinned up at him, digging one of the round little balls out of the plastic bag. She held one up, bright purple against her gloved fingers. “Gum!” Without waiting to be asked, she tossed it up to him, and Miles snagged it, rolling it between his index finger and thumb, an expression close to awe on his face, and then he popped it in his mouth.

“Don't eat it all at once,” Tony said, his lips twitching.

“Thanks.” Araña gave him a wide smile. “Does this mean I can-”

“No, you're, what, nine years old? No, you can't.”

“I'm fifteen,” she said, and it would've been more effective if she wasn't jamming a gumball into her mouth with all the gusto of a toddler.

“And sixteen is the minimum age for active work on the wire, you know that.” When she opened her mouth, Tony glanced at Pepper. “I swear to God if she keeps this up I'm going to bump it up to seventeen.”

Pepper scribbled on her clipboard. “That would leave Parker grounded as well,” she pointed out, her lips absolutely not smiling.

“I'll grandfather him in.”

“Speak no more on it, little one,” Thor said, patting her lightly on the head. “Back to your tasks, we may well have more to do before this day is done, best we finish one job before the next comes before us.”

“It never ends,” Miles said, pushing himself up. He grinned down at Araña. “Race you to the top, Anya.”

“I'm right here,” Tony pointed out. No one cared. He was used to that.

“And we need to go now,” Pepper said, setting her hand on his elbow and tugging him away from the Jaeger and the work. “Marshall Fury wants to see you.”

“That's, that's very nice for him, everyone wants to see me, news flash, Pep, I do not want to see Marshall Fury.” Tony reached for her clipboard and she smacked him lightly on the back of the hand. “Ow!”

“Good try,” Pepper told him. “Let's go.”

“How did I get stuck with you? How? This is just- It's completely unfair that I should have to deal with you, you are-”

“The only thing keeping you on task and on schedule?” Pepper said with a sweet smile. “Sign here for the incoming shipments. Alloys, plastics, chemicals, and gear.” She flipped the page for each set of invoices, letting Tony scan the lines and scribble his initials. “You have another three pallets arriving in the week, you need to move forward on the rotater cuffs if you have any hope of getting-”

“I was doing just fine without you,” Tony interrupted. “I was, I was just fine, there is no need to bring-”

“The fact that when I was first assigned to you, I found you in the middle of three half assembled Jaegers?” Pepper said, her lips twitching.

“That, there is no reason to bring that up, and you do, anyway, you bring it up every time and I just, no.” Tony finished initialing the paperwork and pushed the clipboard away. “And it wasn't three. It was two.” Pepper hugged her clipboard to her chest and gave him a disbelieving look. “And one conn-pod,” he added. “Two and, like, a third, and you know what? I'm done with this conversation now.”

“Of course,” she said, smooth as ever. “What does Fury want with you?”

“It's likely if I knew that, I'd be heading in the other direction,” Tony pointed out. “At a run.” Instead, he shoved his hands in his pockets and kept moving towards Fury's office. The Marshall was a reliable man, steady and strong and more than capable, but he'd been Howard's partner, once upon a time, and Tony chafed at that, at the echo of his father that sometimes seemed to show up in Fury's single dark eye.

As if Fury was well aware of what Tony was planning.

His jaw set, he kept going, ignoring the traffic in the hallway, and only half paying attention to what Pepper was talking about. It was probably important, but that meant that Pepper wouldn't depend on him handling it. She was entirely too smart, and too organized to actually leave Tony in charge of anything for any extended period of time.

The only way he kept sane at this point was because going nuts would've given Pepper far too much ammunition to use against him, and he didn't feel like making her life that easy. There was something wrong with that mental process, he knew it, but he didn't care enough to try to figure it out.

Outside of Fury's office, he paused, one hand on the door. “Wait for me? I don't assume this will take long and whatever he wants, it'll probably make your life hell, too.”

She took a seat on the metal bench outside his door. “Any time he speaks to you,” she pointed out, “you end up taking it out on the rest of us.”

“If I have to suffer,” Tony told her, “so do you.”

“Very mature, Mr. Stark.”

“Miss Potts, that's my middle name. You know. The part that no one uses. Or acknowledges.” He rapped on the metal panel of the door, and waited for Fury's approval before he pushed it open. “You wanted to see me?”

Fury waved a hand towards his visitor's seat, still staring at the 3D readout of the battle that had just concluded. “Have a seat, Mr. Stark.”

Tony slouched into the chair, bracing his elbow on the desk. “As you well know, I've got Jaegers coming in that we've got a tight turn around on, so I was wondering what this is all about,” he said.

“We need to get the Winter Shield back up and running,” Fury said without any introduction, and Tony was already shaking his head.

“It's a waste,” he said, standing back up. “And I'm not wasting the time, the money, or the manpower.”

Fury gave him a disbelieving look. “Excuse me?”

Tony turned on him, his hands spread. “I'm not going to do it. You want me to put it in a different way? I designed the damn thing, hell, I designed most of the Jaegers you're running, and the ones I didn't design, I modified heavily.” But Winter Shield had been special, it had been unique, it had been a quantum leap in Jaeger design. Faster, more durable, a better fighter, than anything that had come before it, the damn thing had burned him, from the inside out. It had consumed him, it was the best thing he'd ever built, bar none.

And it hadn't been enough.

“You bring me mass produced crap, and I give you Jaegers that keep your people alive, that have us with the highest Kaiju kill rate, and the lowest goddamn Ranger fatality rate in the Western world,” Tony bit out. He leaned his hands on Fury's desk, his body tucked forward, shoulders down, braced for the impact that was coming. “I design, I build, I have served. So when I say, it's a waste of resources, and manpower, and my goddamn time, you could, I don't know, listen to that.”

Fury stabbed a finger on the desk. “We need that Jaeger running, and you know it.”

“I know it's an antique, Marshall. That's what I know.” Tony studied him with narrowed eyes, trying to figure out what his game was this time. “Say I did waste all that to get the damn thing running. Who the hell are you planning to put in it? 

“Rhodes and Danvers, it'd be a waste to keep them earthbound, they're at their most effective in the air, and no amount of modifications could get the Winter Shield off the ground.” Tony ticked off the pilots on his fingers. “Van Dyne and Douglas, they're dependent on speed and grace, neither of which Winter Shield has. Their fighting style won't work, the Jaeger's too heavy, too slow. Barton and Romanov? If you believe the rumors, one of them, or possibly both of them, was sleeping with Barnes when he died, so I cannot imagine that they'd touch the thing with a class three Kaiju. Most people are superstitious about that, about putting out to fight where their lover died. And that's without a drift involved.”

“The Storm siblings-” Fury started.

“Are perfectly suited to the Invisible Flame,” Tony said. “And while I'd believe that he'd jump on the chance to move up in the world, I would, Sue's got too much class, and too much tact for that. She won't let Johnny use Winter Shield as a publicity stunt.”

Tony tossed himself back into the chair, letting it rock precariously back onto its back legs, letting the thing clatter against the floor, because it felt rather like throwing a punch. Or as close as he was going to get to throwing a punch. “None of our pilot pairings will take it, and you know it, Marshall. There are rules about this sort of thing, and they all knew Barnes. The only chance you'd have is to use it as bait for one of the new cadets, but the tech's advanced too far since I built Winter Shield. They wouldn't know how to get it off the pad.

“Basically, the only thing Winter Shield is good for is a monument. Set it up in the middle of the harbor, as is, with a couple of middle fingers raised in the general direction of the breach.” Tony's fingers bounced on the clipboard, the spastic twitch beyond his ability to control. “But it's a coffin, Marshall. You're gonna have an impossible task, trying to find someone else willing to climb into it.”

He stood. “And I'd say you owe Rogers better than that, than to throw that in his face.”

Fury folded his hands over his stomach. “Ranger Rogers knows that we are at war. And we cannot afford to let a perfectly good weapon sit dormant because of emotional concerns.” He rolled to his feet. “The Jaeger will be moved out of Malibu Shatterdome. There are other places in the world that need a defense, Mr. Stark. And we're going to provide it to them.” He leaned over, his hands braced on his desk, his shoulders down, his expression flat and unforgiving. “We have someone coming in from the PPDC looking to relocate that Jaeger, and we're going to accommodate them. You will begin working on it immediately. We will have it ready to move in the next 14 days. Do I make myself clear?”

Tony considered him, words that wouldn't do either of them any good dying unspoken in his throat. “Perfectly,” he said, and he flexed his fingers, shaking out the fists that had formed at his sides.

Fury nodded. “You are dismissed, Mr. Stark.”

Tony stalked out of his office, and Pepper took one look at his face and sighed. “Tony?” she asked, falling into place with him. 

Tony took a breath. And another. He concentrated on getting his pulse back under control; this was not the time to end up in medical. “We're getting to work on a repair job.” He sucked in a breath, and this time, something cleared in his head, something clicked into place. “You know what? No. Not a repair job.”

He took off down the corridor, his mind buzzing. “Time for a complete redesign.”

*

Steve didn't really breathe until the Jaegers were back in their bays. He knew most of the rest of the staff didn't, either, but he hated every single minute from the time when the Jaegers were sent out, to the time when their pilots were safely in debrief. It felt like a weight on his chest, bearing down on him, strangling him, the slow tick of the warclock, the staccato issuance of orders and updates rising and falling like his pulse.

When it was all over, when Agent Hill called it, confirmed the Kaiju was dead, LOCCENT erupted into cheers of elation. Steve allowed himself a small smile as he gathered his paperwork, taking his post-mission assignment from Agent Hill. But he didn't really relax, he didn't really celebrate, until every single one of the pilots was back on base.

“Invisible Flame?” he asked Hill, scanning the paperwork.

“Moon Wasp,” Hill said. “It needs repairs, get us a general run down of the state of the Conn-pod.” She paused, a tired expression on her face. “The Flame's probably going to be the lowest priority.”

“Yeah, after that stunt, they'll be lucky to be sent out again,” Steve agreed. He hadn't been surprised. But he found, to his surprise, that he was getting frustrated. Johnny Storm was pushing the limits of his position, and nothing good was going to come of it. 

“I'd say that's a safe bet,” Hill agreed. “Thank you, Ranger.”

Steve gave him a nod, but they were both already going in different directions. Hill rejoined Coulson to comb over the battle data, and Steve was out the door and at the lift in a handful of strides. With his clipboard tucked under his arm, he headed for the hanger where the Jaeger's Conn-pods were both loaded and unloaded.

“How bad?” he asked, as soon as he cleared the door.

Jane Foster, their lead paramedic and emergency tech, glanced back over her shoulder. Her short dark hair was cropped close to her head, making her eyes look even larger in her pretty face. She grinned at Steve, her arms crossed over her chest. “Not bad at all. Coulson says minor injuries, just Yin and Yang.”

Steve's lips twitched. “Yin? Or Yang?” he asked her, settling back against the wall, out of the way as the techs on the ground maneuvered the Jaeger into place. The Conn-pod was released and the system kicked in with a whir. Beneath their feet, the metal flooring shook. None of the support staff even flinched. 

“I still don't know which is which, to be honest.” Jane hefted her medkit. “Damage to the Jaeger, Jan got tossed a bit. Her wrist is probably strained, maybe broken, but it's doubtful; she made it through the fight.”

“That doesn't mean anything,” Steve said. “It's Jan.”

“She's fought through worse,” Jane agreed. “I kinda wish she wouldn't.”

“Agreed,” Steve shifted his weight as the Conn-pod was brought up to their level. “You laying bets if you get to her before Heather?”

“Sucker bet,” Jane said, her smile stretching into an impish grin. “No one would take it. Those two don't rely much on the rest of us. I've got no choice but to take them both in, otherwise, McCoy would have my head.” Even as she was playing it off, her fingers tightened on the handle of her kit, her shoulders flexing. 

Steve ducked his head to hide his smile. Jane had saved more lives than he could count, she was always the first one on the scene of any accident, any attack, any system failure. It had been her face that Steve had first recognized, when his damaged Jaeger had crashed its way back home, collapsing beneath the Malibu cliffs where the Shatterdome rested.

It was Jane, white faced and shaking, who'd slipped through the shattered screen of his Conn-pod, who'd pulled him free, with strength he hadn't known she possessed. It was Jane who'd held him together with hands that were rock steady and strong, even as he'd screamed for his dead co-pilot. It was Jane who had gotten him out. He didn't remember much of it, he didn't remember much at all in the nightmarish aftermath, but he was sure of that.

It was Jane who'd seen him come apart, the only one, and she'd never judged him for it. He wondered if she knew how grateful he was for that.

The doors started to open, and she was already moving. Steve fell into place behind her and two of her teammates, but the pilot team was already on the way out. 

Heather Douglas was tall, and slim, perfectly composed and controlled, her head shaved bald. She carried herself with a regal grace that scraped the edge of egotistical. Brusque and crisp, she didn't suffer fools lightly, or well. She was a brutal fighter, fast and strong and swift, but had little time for the other PPDC staffers, or even her fellow pilots. 

She made an exception for the woman in her arms.

Jan Van Dyne was almost a foot shorter than Heather, and in many ways, her polar opposite. Soft and bubbly, cheerful and talkative, she knew everyone, and everyone knew her. She could talk to anyone, and she did, her dark hair always perfectly styled in a sweet pixie cut that framed her face and made her smile all the more infectious. She moved so lightly, so quickly that it was like she was constantly in a state of flight, and she was fearless in a firefight.

If ever there were a pair of mismatched pilots in Malibu, it was these two, so dissimilar on paper. But the reality of the situation was, they adored one another, and were a drift pairing that Steve wouldn't want to face. What weaknesses each had, the other compensated for, and their strengths were amplified.

Jan was laughing as Heather carried her out of the Conn-pod. “Aw, my adoring public!” she said, throwing out her good arm. Her other was tucked against her chest, red streaking the yellow and gold of her drivesuit. “I'm sorry, no autographs today. As much as I hate to disappoint you all, I fear that I am simply not capable of satisfying you.” Her teeth flashed. “Unless you desire things other than autographs.”

“Ignore her,” Heather said, her perfect mouth curving up by the slimmest margin. 

“Shock might be kicking in.” Jane positioned herself directly in Heather's path, forcing the other woman to a halt. 

“I'm not in shock, I'm basking in our victory,” Jan said, tipping her chin up to let Jane check her eyes, and run careful fingers over Jan's arm. “I just punched a giant alien in the jaw and that is something that deserves an adoring audience waiting for me when I get home.”

“Everyone'll be lined up to buy you a drink,” Steve said, winning himself a impish smile. “You all right, Heather?”

“Yes,” she said, simplicity and economy taking precedent as always. She left the 'of course,' unsaid, but it was there in her voice.

“Heather's the smart one,” Jan said, turning just enough to rest her head on Heather's shoulder. Heather just arched an eyebrow.

Jane stepped back. “Looks good,” she said. “Let's get you down to the good doctor, see if Hank can't get you patched up all quick like.”

“I demand the finest in medical care, and rations!” Jan said. “Let us away!”

“Be careful,” Jane told her, “or you're going to be dropped on your ass.”

Giggling, Jan shook her head. “I'll take my chances.”

“Ranger Rogers!”

Steve stepped back, out of the way, letting Jane and her crew pass, Jan and Heather in their midst, as Agent Coulson slipped through the door. Jane gave him a cheerful wave, and he returned it, even as he waited for Coulson to reach him.

“We have a visitor coming in,” Agent Coulson said, wasting no time. He looked tired, dark circles carved under his eyes. “Marshall Sharon Carter. She's been sent in from PPDC headquarters. Marshall Fury's asking you to meet her on the landing pad on his behalf.”

Steve took the file that Coulson held out to him, quickly flicking through the pages. “Any details about her visit that you can share with me?” he asked. Impressive background, even for a public file. He glanced at her her service history and her battle record. Field service in the early days of the war, despite her rather young age, she'd reached her current position by getting her hands dirty.

“She's here to speak to Marshall Fury,” Coulson said. “About what, your guess is as good as mine.”

Steve doubted that, somehow; Coulson always seemed to know what was happening a beat or two before anyone else on base. “She checking up on us?” Malibu knew the PPDC rules, knew them very well. It was easier to bend them that way. It worked for them, but they were not exactly functioning within official standards.

Not by a long shot.

“I would be surprised if she wasn't, but to what end, I couldn't tell you.” Coulson gave him a tight lipped smile. “Marshall Fury is tied up with the debrief and the system resets; he's asking that you give her a quick tour if she's up for it.”

Steve frowned. “I have checks of my own to do,” he said. Because they all knew he was lousy at this kind of gladhanding. He always felt stiff and awkward, glaringly out of his depth, and it showed.

“She's put in a request to speak to you during the course of her visit,” Coulson said. “I thought you'd prefer to get it out of the way.”

Steve's teeth gritted. “Yes. Thank you.” He took a deep breath. “Am I avoiding any part of our facility?”

“Use your descretion,” Coulson said. “But in all honesty? The PPDC has to know what we're up to. Fury doesn't spend much time hiding it.”

“Knowing, and seeing? Are two different things.” Steve handed Coulson his clipboard. “Tony's waiting on the data-”

“I know. I'll have it taken care of. She's due in a matter of minutes.”

“Fury didn't want to give me much time to work up a panic, I take it?”

Coulson's smile was faint. “Not even Marshall Fury could have predicted a Kaiju attack.”

“I'll take your word on that.” Steve headed for the landing pad at a brisk jog, wishing he had time to change into a more formal uniform. He was still wearing the simple fatigue pants, t-shirt and combat boots that he used when doing physical training with his students. He ran a quick hand through his hair, pushing the strands into some semblance of order.

It was raining on the helipad, and Steve snagged one of the big black umbrellas that rested in the stand just inside the door. He crossed out into the windswept, rain slick tarmac just as the spotting helicopters were being secured. Steve grinned, pleased as always to see Sam Wilson heading away from the copter that he used to run information and interference for the Jaeger pilots. Sam, spotting him, waved and headed in Steve's direction.

"Nice flying, Sam," Steve said, and the pilot grinned at him. "I was up in command."

"Agent Hill had kittens this time, didn't she?"

"I think she had reason, don't you?" Steve clasped Sam's hand in a firm grip, the two of them bumping shoulders in a very old ritual. Sam had started his career at the same time that Steve had, and the two of them had learned the ropes together. Early struggles and successes had built a bond between them that still held strong, even though Steve wasn't an active Jaeger pilot any longer. Sam was still flying regularly, loving every minute of it. His skill and his nerves got a workout every time the Kaiju alarms blared. "Good work."

"Tell me this. Tell me, Cap, how do we lose them?" Sam threw an arm around Steve's shoulders, waving a hand at the windswept and rainy horizon. "They are hundreds of feet tall. They have bits that glow in the dark in the creepiest damn manner. They like to knock over buildings. So tell me." He let out a sigh. "How do we lose track of them?"

"Pure talent on your part," Steve said, managing to keep a straight face. Sam laughed, and Steve held up his umbrella to cover them both.

"Hey, through most of the fight I'm just trying to stay out of reach," Sam said. He ran a hand over his close cropped black hair. "And let me tell you, some of these suckers have had a brutal reach.” 

“They're getting bigger,” Steve said.

“Yes. Yes, they are.” Sam crossed his arms. “Bigger and nastier.” 

“Not nice to talk about the Jaegers like that.” Wyatt Wingfoot was splashing his way across the flight pad, his black hair already gleaming and wet. He didn't seem to mind, stopping just outside the range of their umbrella, his hands tucked in his pockets, his head tipped back towards the stormy sky. He was humming under his breath, the faintest murmur of sound, and there was an easy grin on his face.

“Not talking about the Jaegers,” Sam told him. “We're talking about the pilots.”

Laughing, Sam nodded. “THOSE are getting bigger and nastier. Speaking of, how goes, Cap?”

Steve shook his hand. “Well enough,” he said. “We got everyone back, safe and sound.”

“Moon Wasp took a pretty good hit,” Wyatt said, head tipping forward. “You got an update for us?”

“Jan's got minor injuries. Other than that, we just have damaged Jaegers to deal with.” Steve smiled. “I'll take it at this point.”

“Amen,” Sam said. “Ugly flying today. Thought things were going to turn out differently a time or two.” His eyes slid in Wyatt's direction. “Johnny's gonna get himself bounced out of the program if he doesn't start following orders.”

Wyatt glanced at Steve, who didn't say a word. Wyatt's shoulders rose and fell in a heavy sigh. “I'll talk to him,” he said, one big hand rubbing the back of his neck. “Hell, I'll grab Parker. We can gang up on him.”

“Does that actually work?” Steve asked. The younger Storm sibling was driven by emotion and a lack of impulse control; the last thing he'd try to do is spring a lecture on the kid. 

“Nothing works,” Wyatt said. “But Peter's usually pretty good at keeping him in one place and listening. He's got something to him that keeps even the angriest ones listening.” He shook his head. “I don't know how much good it'll do. But we'll try.”

“Fury won't put up with his insubordination,” Steve said. “You know that. There's too many Ranger candidates looking for a seat. If Sue can't keep him in line-”

“You can't think they'll pull him?” Sam asked. He shifted, rolling his weight back on his heels, his arms crossed over his chest. “Hell, they still let Wilson in a Jaeger. As long as they keep logging the kills, the PPDC ignores a lot.”

“The PPDC does,” Steve said. “Fury doesn't.” His grip on the umbrella handle was a bit too tight, and he made a conscious effort to relax his fingers. “Wilson's still in a Jaeger, but he's got no berth here. He puts in for repairs, but he's here on sufferance.” He met Wyatt's eyes. He liked the spotter pilot. He was loyal and tough and fearless under fire. “Johnny won't do well at another Shatterdome.”

Wyatt took a deep breath. “Yeah, I think you're right about that.” He swept a hand through his dark hair, disordering the wet strands. “I'll see if I can't talk him off the ledge. No promises, though.”

“A lot of people lost family in this war,” Sam said. He didn't look at Steve. “I know. I did, too. We all have. He's gotta come to terms with that, before it kills him. And probably everyone who's running a mission with him.”

“Yeah.” Wyatt's eyes flicked heavenward. “I need a drink.”

“Good luck with that,” Sam said, grinning. “C'mon. I'll buy you a cup of coffee.”

“At this point? I'll take it.” Wyatt glanced at Steve. “You joining us?”

Steve shook his head. “I've got an assignment. Visitor coming in from PPDC headquarters. Have a cup for me.”

“Good luck!” Sam said, giving him a high five. “We're off to spread completely unfounded rumors about your current activities and the actions of the PPDC.”

Steve chuckled. “Please don't.”

“Man, listen. Someone's gonna spread completely unfounded rumors. Don't you want me to be the one to get the praise and attention for doing it? Be a bro about this, Steve.”

“Try not to lie to the staff too much,” Steve said.

“I leave the real whoppers to Clint,” Sam said, ambling towards the door. 

Laughing, Wyatt followed after him. “Natasha's going to break your legs one of these days.”

“I should be so lucky, man.”

Steve watched them go, wishing that he was joining them. There was a time when he would've, when the pilots came off the pads, out of their Conn-pods and headed straight to Messhall C, where Aunt May would already have urns of hot coffee and an array of small pastries, produced through some miraculous act of slight of hand. Almost universally, the pilots and support crews were young and May acted as a surrogate mother for more than a few of them.

Sometimes, she stood for family hundreds of miles away. Other times, she replaced those long dead.

He pulled his thoughts away from those maudlin topics as a massive helicopter came in for a landing. He knew it carried his expected guest even before the door opened, steps dropping down to the deck. Marshall Carter came down the stairs with a quick step, and Steve moved in to meet her as the rotors slowed above them. He did his best to keep his umbrella pointed into the wash of choppy air as he stepped up.

“Welcome to Shatterdome Malibu, Marshall Carter,” Steve said. “I'm Steve Rogers, I was asked to meet you.” He held out the umbrella, but she waved it off.

“Thank you, Ranger Rogers, but a bit of rain actually feels good at this point. I've been cooped up in there for what feels like forever.” Despite her words, uniform was crisp and her blonde hair was in a smooth, perfect bun at the nape of her neck. She had a friendly smile and sharp eyes, and her handshake was firm and strong. “I appreciate you coming out for me. I know there must be things you'd prefer to be doing right now.”

“I go where I'm ordered, ma'am.” He gestured towards the door. “If you'll follow me? Marshall Fury is tied up with the aftermath of the-”

She nodded. “I understand. It was a messy one. Your teams gave a good showing.”

“Thank you, ma'am.” Steve opened the door and stood aside for her step inside. Closing the umbrella, he stepped into the entryway, where Carter was smoothing water off of her hair. “I can show you to your quarters, or I'd be happy to give you a quick tour of the facility.”

She grinned. “Lead on, Ranger. I'd love to see what you have to offer.”

Steve gave her a crisp nod. "This way, then. Please mind your step, we have two Jaegers in need of extensive repair and another two that'll be in the process of being checked over and rearmed. It's always a scramble."

“Two? Ah, that's right, Foxtrot Ultra's currently undergoing work here,” she said, falling into step with him without any difficulty. Despite the difference in their heights, she had an impressive stride and a quick step. “May I see?”

Steve wondered if the repair bay was the best or worst introduction to Malibu that he could've managed. It was certainly the most representative of what they had to offer, and probably the most honest. “Yes, ma'am.” He squared his shoulders. “Just remember, Marshall Carter, this is what you wanted to see.”

She laughed. “I'm sure I've seen worse, Ranger.”

“I highly doubt that. This way, please.”

*

The repair bay was organized chaos. Steve was expecting that. Judging by the way that Carter's eyes went wide, she wasn't.

Rock music pounded the air, mingling easily with the sounds of metal being shaped and reshaped, the whirr of cutters and the crack of bolts being pushed home. People were scrambling in all directions, lugging heavy equipment and steering motorized carts and forklifts. Giant sheets of metal and complicated wiring arrays were lifted from the ground level via a well-organized series of lifts and harnesses. Everywhere, people were working.

And high above them, striding a catwalk with a massive clutch of rolled up blueprints under one arm and a coffee cup in his other hand, Tony was leading the battle from the front lines. He moved fast through the crowded space, hopping up with one foot on the railing to swing past work crews, spinning from a workers left shoulder to her right, gesturing with the cup at something, his head ducked in close as he explained, and she nodded, shifting her focus. He dropped a rolled up set of plans over the edge of the catwalk, letting a crew chief snatch them from the air in free fall, and hopped down a ladder in two quick flicks of his legs.

Tony paused, seeming for an instant to hover in mid-air before his feet came crashing back down to the catwalk. Thor moved down on the floor, calling up to him, flicking a series of hand signals that Tony read without a blink. Steve followed his gesturing hands, and saw the new chestplate for Foxtrot Ultra being pulled into place at the base of the Jaeger.

This one, at least, hadn't been painted with “FU” like the last one, but he gave Wilson about a week or so before that came to pass.

Tony nodded, and Thor was off like a shot, his long legs eating up the floor as he gathered up the crews. Holding his cup above his head, Tony called out, "Grab line, one and all. Sing it!"

As the chorus kicked in, from all over the repair bay, the workers joined in. "Yeah, you know you got to help me out, yeah, oh, don't you put me on the back burner, you know you got to help me out!" Laughing, Steve sang along, ambling over to where the workers were gathering, pulling on gloves, setting themselves in neat lines as they got a grip on the wires. Men and women formed neat columns as the massive forklifts lifted the new chest plate so that the wires and clamps could be connected. Thor walked along beside the machine, his hammer bouncing against his leg with every step, but he was there to help steer them into place, to take his position at the front of the line.

"What're you doing?" Carter asked, and Steve glanced at her.

"Little bit of manpower," he said, as things were put into place and secured. “You want to see how we work? We just got lucky. You get to see just that.”

She studied the workers, her eyes clear. "Don't you have machines for this?"

"Faster and more accurate with people power," Araña said, ducking under Steve's arm. She tossed a pair of gloves to the Marshall, who caught them instinctively. "Grab line. You don't work, you don't eat." Grinning, the girl shot off, bouncing off a pile of boxes and flinging herself up to the railing. She ran along the length of it, out of the way of the workers, with a speed and a precise balance that was terrifying to watch. "Miles!" she called, skipping down to the ground. "Let's go!"

“Way ahead of you!” Miles swung up the ladder, and offered her a hand. She was giggling as she took it.

"She's exaggerating, a little. We'll still feed you, but not much," Steve told Cater, and to her credit, she fell into place without another word, setting her hands on the line right behind Steve. Steve gave her a crisp nod. "Ready?"

"How do I know-"

"It's like an old sea chanty. Pull on the beat. The chorus goes on forever, we'll have it up before it's over." Grinning, Steve set his feet and waited for Tony to give the signal. Even at this distance, he was pretty sure Tony was grinning directly down at him. 

Tony hopped up onto the railing, his papers discarded for now. He held onto the wire supports with one hand, and held his coffee cup as the music boomed. He raised the cup and everyone braced. He swung it, and they began pulling. "Well, I got soul but I'm not a soldier," Steve sang, and it was a battle cry, the way these people sang it, loud and fierce and with pounding feet, the room echoing with the force of it. "I got soul but I'm not a soldier!" 

On the downbeat, feet were set and they pulled, hundreds of hands, shoulders and arms and bodies straining against the weight, but the chest plate moved, moved with nothing more than those hands. The tiny woman in front of Steve, who couldn't have been more than five feet tall when her massive boots were off, was pulling with all her strength, muscles bulging beneath the exposed skin of her shoulders and back. 

Up above, Tony was in a crouch, eyes narrowed, head down, and the Spiders were on either side of him, Peter and Jessica and a few others with the ability to move through the air like they were born to it. Peter was rocking on his feet, shifting his weight, stretching his arms back and above his head, a constant flutter of nervous movement. Next to him, Jessica was leaning against the railing, utterly still except for the way her heel was bouncing on the catwalk, faster and faster as the chest plate was maneuvered into position. 

Tony leaned towards them, his head down, his coffee cup being used as a pointer, and both of them listened, heads tipped in his direction, bodies canted towards him, until he straightened up. The two Spiders did a fistbump, and they were up and over the railing in an instant, both in freefall until their harnesses brought them up short. Spinning in midair, they braced a foot, an arm, pushing off with a hand or a heel, They moved like their namesakes, fast and assured.

As the new chest plate was pulled into place, they pushed, pulled, and forced mag clamps into place, securing the chestplate with brutal speed., half a dozen others descending to help them along. Tony was gesturing, on the catwalk now, crouched low to yell to them from below the line of the railing. As everyone down below held their ground, Steve's arms straining with the weight, they checked and double checked the connections. Finally, they pushed away, both of them raising a thumbs up at the same time.

"Hold!" Thor thundered, and everything was still other than the music, still booming around them.

Tony held up his hand, checking a handheld tablet, and gave them the thumbs up. "Walk out tension!" Thor yelled, and still following the beat of the song, they took a step forward, and another, letting the line go with them, until the magclamps took the full weight of the chestplate and the ropes went slack. Still, every single hand stayed on the lines until Thor called out, "Release!"

The room erupted into cheers, the lines clattering to the floor. Laughing and singing, Steve slapped palms and shook hands and bumped fists with everyone who passed by, watching grimy and sweat streaked faces break into grins. Up above, Tony was descending, almost running as he came down the catwalks and scaffolds. He was singing still, his voice audible over the sound system. "While everyone's lost, the battle is won, with all these things that I've done-" He jogged up, his face flushed and his hair a mess, his hands streaked with oil and grease.

Steve stripped off his gloves. "Good work, Jaegermeister," he said, making Tony laugh. "Marshall Carter, may I introduce Tony Stark, our chief designer and builder? Tony, this is Marshall Sharon Carter, visiting us from PPDC headquarters."

Tony scrubbed his hand on his hip, but it was still filthy when he held it out to Carter. To her credit, she didn't even blink, she just grasped it for a firm shake. "I'm honored, Mr. Stark. I've depended on your work more times than I can count."

"Flattered, thank you," Tony said, his teeth flashing in a quick grin. "I'd love to stick around to show you around, but I am about six days behind on my work and someone keeps smashing my suits up against giant alien monsters, so catching up is a virtual impossibility." He leaned back, grabbing a clipboard from a passing worker, who waited patiently for him to scan the pages and scribble a signature. "How's Jan?" he asked Steve, his eyes cutting up.

"Minor concussion and strained shoulder, her cradle held," Steve said, and Tony's grin was wide and bright and boyish.

"Damn straight it did." He tapped Steve in the middle of his chest with the clipboard. "Never doubted it." He handed the work back to the girl, who scampered off. "Look, you got questions, we can-" He leaned back. "Jennifer!"

"Boss?" A couple of stories up, Jennifer Walters crouched down, her welding torch in one gloved hand as she pushed her goggles back into her brown hair. She was an Amazon, well over six feet tall and with arms and legs that bulged with muscle. Now she was staring down, her eyes bright, the top of her coveralls shrugged down to hang around her waist, her tank top a second skin over her impressive figure.

"Come play tour guide? I need to keep them away from Thor," Tony said.

Jennifer laughed, and it was loud and rich. "Sounds like a plan." Shrugging her welding backpack back into place, she headed for the ladder. "Be right there."

"And in her capable hands, I will leave you." Tony flicked a salute in their direction. 

"Thank you," Carter said, but Tony was already gone, half running, half dancing with the music, his body a live wire of motion. The Marshall watched him go, her face considering. "What's the story there?" she asked.

"Ma'am?" Steve glanced at her.

"Rumor in the drift is that he washed out of the pilot program," she said, and Steve's shoulders went tense.

"Like most things in the drift," he said, his voice clipped, "you're not getting the whole story."

Her head came around, her golden hair gleaming in the harsh lights. "You want to give me the real one?" she asked, her eyebrows arching.

"No." Steve didn't soften that with anything else, just the simple and flat refusal. "If you'd like to learn more, you can ask him."

Jennifer dropped down to the floor, her boots landing solid and firm. "Them's fighting words around these parts," she said, with a smile. Pushing her goggles down to her neck, she pulled the coiled scarf out of hair, letting it fall down around her back. She rotated her shoulders with a sigh. "God, that's a relief," she said, folding her arms behind her head and flexing her back. "Sorry, we've been on double shifts for-" She paused, considering. "Well, forever."

"Marshall Carter, this is Jennifer Walters." Steve let the women shake hands, waiting as they sized each other up. "Jennifer was a rising law student at UCLA before the breach."

"Now I wield a weld like no one else," Jennifer said, grinning. She flexed an arm. "Rosie the Riveter ain't got nothing on me."

"Thank you for your service," Carter said, and it seemed like she meant it. 

"Pleased to do my part." Jennifer crossed her arms. "That being said, if you get after Tony, I'd suggest you not walk to corridors alone. People around here get a little protective of our resident mad genius."

"His work is amazing. But this is-" Sharon glanced around, at the people, at the Jaeger, at the bay itself. "Highly unorthodox."

"We tend not to argue with success," Steve told her.

"We have the highest kill ratio in the western hemisphere," Jennifer said, her chin up. "And the lowest incursion rate of populated areas."

“And that's because of this?” Carter asked. 

“Partially. I'm not discounting the pilots, mind you, but we fight in our own way.”

“By pulling on ropes instead of using the machines that are built for this exact purpose?” Carter asked, and there was no disdain in her voice, no sarcasm. Just an odd sort of curiosity. “It's a waste of time, there are ways to do it faster.”

Jennifer considered her. "You can spend an entire ten hour shift working on a finger," she said at last. "Upgrades, repairs, detail work, double checks, you can dedicate your entire life to a finger, to a single relay, a joint. That's good. You've got two pilots who are depending on you to do your job, and do it right. A failure in a finger could be the difference between a win and a defeat, and if it's a defeat, you're losing your pilots, and probably the city they're protecting. So that finger becomes your life, it becomes the only thing that matters." 

She waved a hand behind her, encompassing the entire Jaeger. "So when we do that? What you consider a waste? It's Tony's way of reminding us that this is what we're working on, reminding us of the very scope of our efforts, and reminding us that we are a team. That for ten minutes, we are completely united, every hand, every head, every single muscle on offer in this room is moving united, for a single goal. It's a reminder: we are not alone in this. And we have a mighty big job to do, but we have the hands to do it."

With a tight lipped smile, she braced her hands on her hips. "Your pilots might be the rock stars of the modern world, but they've got a hell of a lot of roadies behind them, doing the heavy lifting. And when you ask things like 'did he wash out of the pilot program,' what you're doing is assuming everyone wants to be a Jaeger pilot. When, in fact, there are other things that many of us find worth doing." She grinned. "That don't involve getting wedged into a tin can and letting an alien monster punch us repeatedly in the proverbial face."

"I'd argue, but in retrospect, yes, that's what we're signing up to do," Steve said. He started walking, both women falling into step next to him. 

Carter was frowning up towards where the Spiders were still hard at work, Araña and Miles now lowering tools and equipment down to the rest of the crew. "Some of your workers seem to be below the minimum age requirements," she said.

"Ma'm, all due respect, the PPDC has started putting sixteen year olds in Jaegers," Steve said, and he didn't mean to sound so disapproving of that. "I have cadets that aren't shaving yet. I think that the corps lost that moral high ground."

"Besides," Jennifer added, "most of them are either the orphans of workers, or the children of workers, or they fought their way out here. Usually on foot. What're we supposed to do? Send them back out into the wastes? In case you missed it, there's a war on out there. They stand a better chance of surviving here than they do out there." 

"They work. Hard as their adult counterparts," Steve said. "In most cases, harder." He gave Sharon a faint smile. "They know how precarious their position is, and most of them have no where else to go. Despite that, we do have classes, and the moment we have Kaiju movement, anyone seventeen or younger is sent to the bunkers.”

“And working in an active construction bay is the best thing for children?” Carter asked Steve.

His shoulders rose and fell in a faint shrug. “We let them choose. Most of them stick with the hydroponic gardens, the kitchens, the maintenance crews, a wide variety of positions that keeps them off the front lines and away from trouble.”

“They're in a Shatterdome on the Pacific coast,” she pointed out, and Steve stopped pretending.

“With all due respect, ma'am, the government seems more concerned about getting the wealthy and influential, those with power and position, safely inland. They had their chance to evacuate these kids, to evacuate everyone out of reach. That, as of yet, hasn't happened.” He took a deep breath, trying to pull himself back under control. “And as long as they reach us, Marshall Carter, we'll find some way to give them sanctuary.”

She was smiling, just a little. “You know what, Ranger? Call me Sharon.” He blinked at her, confused, and she turned back to Jennifer. “Show me everything, Ms. Walters.”

Jennifer flicked a salute. “Aye, aye, ma'am!”

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song referenced is the Killers' "All These Things That I've Done," which is the unofficial theme song of this story. I am fascinated by this world, and all those we saw in the background of the Shatterdome. The pilots are awesome, don't get me wrong, but I love these uncredited men and women of all races, ages and backgrounds who were working together to do something amazing and brilliant.
> 
> All the respect for those who fight from the homefront. History doesn't record their names, but they are fierce fighters in their own rights.
> 
> Jane Foster is a paramedic in this story as a reference to her original origin as a nurse in the Thor comics, and her role as an EMT in Avengers: Earth's Mightiest Heroes. I'm sure she was a student of the theoretical sciences before the breach, and then her practical warrior side kicks in.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, this isn't going to be a perfect gel with the world of Pacific Rim, sorry, I'm more concerned about a clean AU than making sure that everything matches perfectly. Bear with my slight inaccuracies, okay? Let's just assume that the existence of Starks of any sort alters things.
> 
> Trigger warnings for a little mayham, canon appropriate injuries and near death experiences.

The mess hall was empty at this time of night, and Tony was glad that he didn't have to deal with anyone as he struggled to get coffee from the pot into his cup. 

That was the thing about the Malibu Shatterdome. No matter what the hour, no matter which mess hall he managed to stumble into, there was always coffee, hot and ready to go, in the carafes that were setup on the sidebar. Hot water for tea, and massive jugs of mixed drinks high in electrolytes and chilled lemonade were always there too, but Tony only ever had eyes for the coffee.

At a certain point, double shifts became triples and after a while, coffee was less a suppliment and more a staple.

He was on his third cup, slouched low over the table, and deep in thought, when the sound of footsteps brought his head up. It only took a single look to know that something was very, very wrong.

May Parker had shown up at the main entrance of the Shatterdome years before, newly widowed and without anywhere else to go. She had been holding a single large bag in one hand and her nephew Peter in the other, the thin and traumatized boy clinging silently to her palm. She had simply talked her way past the guards and the Corps chain of command with a combination of steely determination and sweet, feminine charm. 

She was now in charge of feeding every person in the base, a monumental task where both of those traits served her extremely well. Half affectionate maternal figure, half stern headmaster, she dealt simultaneously with raw supplies by the ton, government subsidies and more than a thousand ration cards. Local black market figures had learned to respect, if not outright fear, her bargaining skills, and the average bureaucrat had learned to just get out of her way.

From next to nothing, May produced a varied, healthy menu every day, planning meals weeks in advance, and steering a staff of fifty employed across four different messhalls. Everyone was fed based on their needs and their activity level, and everyone was fed well. She was a familiar face to everyone in the Shatterdome, darting around with a brisk step and a warm smile.

Now, however, she wasn't smiling. She set a covered bowl in front of Tony, and he glanced at her over the rim of his coffee cup. “I ate,” he said, and he sounded defensive. For good reason, he forgot more often then he remembered these days.

“I know,” she said, taking a seat across from him at the table. “Steve didn't.”

Tony bit out a curse. “Yeah, okay.” He scrubbed a hand over his face, resenting this conversation already. He hadn't had a meal with Steve in days. Mostly, he'd been lucky to catch a glimpse of him through the crowd in the mess hall. He'd been with Marshall Carter every time Tony had turned around, and Tony didn't really want to really think about how much he resented that. How perfect the two of them looked together, both tall and sleek and blonde. Marshall Carter clearly enjoyed Steve's company, and judging by the grin Tony had seen on Steve's face, the feeling was mutual. Tony, meanwhile, had taken his dinner in K-Science every day this week and pretended that it was because he was behind on his work.

Now, however, he sighed. “Look, let's just give him a day and-”

May laid a gentle hand on top of the bowl. “This,” she said, a thread of steel in her voice, “is day three.”

Tony's teeth ground together. “Fuck.” He leaned forward. “Sorry.”

“Oh, trust me, that's very close to what I'm thinking.” May folded her hands on the table in front of her, her spine straight, her shoulders back. “He cannot do this, Tony.”

“I know. I know.” Tony shoved a hand through his hair, a nervous twitch of movement. “I don't know why he does it, I got nothing for you.”

May gave him a faint smile. “People do strange things under stress, I know that.” She leaned forward, her head tipping to the side. “But he is in charge of the cadets, and whether he chooses to believe it or not, they look up to him. They idolize him, and they will follow his example, no matter what example he sets. And if he stops eating, if he starts worrying about our being able to provide for everyone and tries to sacrifice in that way, they do notice. And they do think that this is something they should be doing, too.”

Tony nodded. “Yeah, I know. Believe me, I've seen him with his ducklings.” He gave her a lopsided smile. “He doesn't see it that way.”

“I know.” May sighed. “I will feed everyone here. You know that. That if it comes to it, if I come up short, then everyone will know, and everyone will understand what we have to do to keep everyone alive. But between Bruce's efforts, and Callie's work down in the gardens, we are fine.” Her smile stretched. “Not to mention what we manage to acquire through less than legal sources.”

Tony sipped his coffee. “Not that we talk about that. Because we would never break the rules.”

“Of course we wouldn't,” May said, ever pragmatic. They shared a smile, two people who would deal with the devil himself if it was necessary, and feel next to no guilt about it. Tony always wondered how people with principles dealt with surviving in wartime; he'd sacrificed anything approaching scruples very quickly and if he regretted that, he didn't let himself linger on the thought. As long as May could wrangle the best possible deal, he'd let her drain the last of the Stark bank accounts to do it.

“Listen, I don't know what I can do-” he started, and May cut him off.

“You are the only one who can talk to him when he gets this way.” She stood up; the conversation over. “He tried to tell me that he'd just missed check in on Tuesday, and that might be true, my people aren't perfect. People get missed from time to time, a serving or two goes missing here and there, and no one makes a fuss. If people are that hungry, then let them eat. But his badge hasn't been scanned for three days, and that is no mistake.”

She held out a pair of wrapped chopsticks to Tony. “I'll manually add him into the system for today, so that I do not have to inform Agent Coulson about this. In exchange, you will find him, and you will get him to eat.”

“How is this my responsibility?” Tony asked, and it was a token protest at best. He was already taking the chopsticks from her hand. He picked up the bowl, balancing the two together.

“Because you are the only one who can do it,” May said. She dusted her hands on her slim hips, a bright white apron still tied firmly around her waist. “And because you know that when he stops eating, he's...” She took a deep breath, her eyes sad. “He needs you.”

Tony nodded. “Yeah. Okay. Yeah.” He drained his coffee. “Be thankful I like you.”

“Oh, every day, Mr. Stark. I am so grateful for that every single day,” May said, and it was only the faint arch of her eyebrow that betrayed the sarcasm. 

“Yeah, I get that a lot.” Tony picked up the bowl. “Look, don't, just- Don't tell Coulson or Hill, okay? Let me talk to him.”

“Tell them what?” May was already walking away, with a speed that belayed her age. “Bring Steve to dinner tomorrow. I expect to see your badges swiped at the same time.”

“We're not dating, you know!” Tony called after her, making her laugh. “I'm not nearly that lucky,” Tony muttered to himself. Still, he jammed the folders under his arm and refilled his coffee cup one more time before he headed for the door, balancing everything the best he could without bothering with a tray.

He knew where Steve was likely to be hiding right now.

Tony took the stairs. It was easier, for this particular path. There were lifts, of course, but it was a strange and tangled path that he had to take, seldom used and mostly forgotten. His father's old workshop was on the top of the Shatterdome, a location chosen before the full extent of the Kaiju threat was really understood. It was impractical, it was dangerous, and it was so typical of Howard Stark that for some reason, it was still there.

Tony still used it, from time to time, but mostly for the projects that he was trying to keep secret. For everything else, he didn't bother. He had space down in the K-Science division, and most of his work was actually done down in the repair bays. Howard's old workshop held ghosts and silence and Tony had had his fill of both.

The workshop was private though. As far as the PPDC and Marshall Fury knew, Tony held the only key to the expansive space. Rank, and funding, still had its privileges, and for now, Fury let Tony hold onto that last Stark stronghold in the heart of the Shatterdome. Mostly because there was nothing else that could be done there, and no one else was stupid enough to want to work in the center of the bullseye if a Kaiju came knocking.

Reaching the top of the stairs, Tony paused on the landing, his hand on the door handle. He rattled it, just a little, because he knew, even before he gave the handle a tug, that the door was already unlocked.

The workshop was empty, and he tossed his paperwork onto the bench, glancing at the plans and the scrawled data that was pinned on every available surface. He took a second to bury some of the more incriminating pages before he headed up the metal stairs to the catwalk and the exterior door. “You,” he said, ducking out the narrow door onto the Widow's walk, “are taking advantage of my hospitality, Rogers.”

Steve was seated on the metal walkway, his legs dangling over the side, and his folded arms braced on the railing. His sketchbook was sitting next to him, closed and tied off, but there close at hand. He didn't even look in Tony's direction as Tony ambled up behind him. “Sorry,” he said.

“Yeah, no, you're not,” Tony said. He lowered himself down to sit next to Steve on the cold metal of the flooring. The night sky was dark and cloudy, the wind crisp against his skin, and he felt himself relax. “What's up?”

One of Steve's shoulders rose and fell in a half shrug. “Nothing much,” he said. He glanced in Tony's direction, his faint smile not quite reaching his eyes. “Still playing tour guide.” The smile faded almost as soon as it formed. “I'm a dancing monkey.”

“It happens to the best of us.” Tony set the bowl down on the walkway between them. “Sounds like hungry work.”

Steve's shoulders hunched forward. “Sorry.”

“No, you're not.” The words came out too harsh, and Tony sucked in a breath, letting it wash through him. The night air was cold and sharp with sea spray, stinging his throat. “Steve. You can't do this.”

Steve didn't say anything, and Tony struggled with a feeling of frustration. “Look, I'm the last person who has the right to lecture anyone else about following the rules, but I'm far from a role model, and you are.” He took the lid off the bowl. Dinner was a stir fry, bright slices of pepper and carrot and pale crescents of onion mixed with chunks of tofu and tossed in a glaze that was fragrant with garlic and ginger. A healthy portion of brown rice was soaking in the sauce, still steaming and warm. Tony held it out. “Dinner was good. You know. Tofu, and all that shit, but good.”

Steve's eyes slid shut, his jaw working. “Yeah, I know,” he said, and he took the bowl, and the chopsticks. “Something feels... Wrong. I don't know what, or why.” He glanced at Tony, his eyes shadowed. “But it feels like something bad's coming.”

“I know.” Tony went to take a sip of his coffee, and paused the cup halfway to his mouth. Reluctantly, he handed that over as well, missing the warmth almost before it was out of his hand. “I know, Steve, but we need you.”

Steve took a sip from the cup, his mouth red against the metal rim. His cheeks were flushed, and Tony licked his lips. Steve glanced at him, and Tony managed a smile. “Doesn't feel like it,” Steve said, his voice quiet.

“Yeah, well, you don't pay attention.” Tony shifted his weight. “You want to talk about it?” He really didn't want to talk about it. He didn't want to talk about any of it. Too many secrets now, too many things that they were both hiding, and sometimes, all he wanted to do was pretend none of it was real.

“Thanks,” Steve said, and he set the empty coffee cup aside before he picked up the bowl. “But there's nothing to talk about.” 

Tony nodded, just a little, and tried to take comfort from the fact that Steve was eating. “Yeah, okay,” he said. “If you're sure, then-”

“I saw your newest design,” Steve said, digging his chopsticks into the stir fry.

Inwardly, Tony winced. On the surface, though, he maintained an easy grin. “Yeah? I like it, I think that I can get a new layout and the visual design is interesting, Pepper had a part in that. If I make some alterations to how we think of the internal logistics, we should be able to get some extra force from-” 

Steve reached out and whacked him lightly on the back of the head, and Tony jolted. “Idiot,” Steve said, going back to his food.

“What the hell was that for?” Tony asked, rubbing his head.

Steve was shaking his head, smiling just a little as he chewed on a mouthful of rice and vegetables. “Do you really think,” he said after a moment, “that a paintjob and a name change could fool me?” He slanted a look in Tony's direction. “I spent a good portion of my life in that Jaeger, I'd recognize her no matter what you do with the exterior.”

Tony gave a faint sigh. “Yeah, I was hoping you might miss that,” he admitted. He leaned back on his hands, studying Steve for any signs of anger or betrayal. But Steve's face was open and calm as he ate, chewing steadily as he emptied his bowl. “It wasn't my idea. You know that, right?”

“I know that,” Steve agreed. He brought the bowl up to his mouth and scraped the bottom clean. When he set it down, it was empty, and some part of Tony relaxed. “It's okay, Tony.”

“It's really not,” Tony said, looking up at the sky.

“Yes, it is.” Steve looked at him, and he was smiling, just a little. “Bucky wouldn't have wanted her to sit empty. To have her just... Rot. It's not right.” His smile went a bit wider. “Bucky can't take her out any more, and neither can I, but she can. You can make her fight again, and Bucky would want that.”

Tony chewed on the inside of his mouth. “Bucky's gone,” he said, at last, and those words hurt, because he could see Steve's flinch even before it materialized on his frame. “You're still here. So you'll forgive me if I don't give a damn what Bucky would've wanted. What do you want, Steve?”

Steve met his eyes, and his were blue and sharp and so alive that they hurt Tony to look into them. “I want this war to be over as soon as possible,” he said, calm and measured. “I want to save as many people as I can.” He smiled, and it was sad and full of regrets, but it was real. “And if you renaming the Winter Shield the Iron Commander and finding her a new crew will do that, then I fully support that.”

“Yeah?” Tony asked.

Shaking his head, Steve leaned back on the railing. His broad, well muscled arms folded on the metal, and he set his chin against them, his eyes watching the horizon. “Of course.” He glanced over. “Thank you, though. For trying to hide it.”

“I did a lousy job of it. Posted my work up here, knowing you have a key.” Tony let out a sigh, and the air was cool on his face, the darkness a veil over his eyes. He scratched at his jaw, feeling the rough scratch of beard and closed his eyes, exhausted. “I hate that Fury's making me do it,” he said, his voice bitter. “And no one's going to like working on it, you know they're not. Bad memories. All around.”

Steve was silent for a moment. “I had a dream about that, the other day,” he said at last, his voice soft. “Not the- Not Bucky. But after.”

Tony froze, his body going tense, recoiling instinctively. “Yeah?” The word was pulled out of him against his will.

“About the day after, when I woke up and, well, you know,” Steve said, and he wasn't looking in Tony's direction, he didn't see Tony's shoulders slump, he didn't see the relief that rolled over Tony's features.

His breathing rough, Tony had to take a second to pull himself together before he could reply. “When you showed up at my door?” he asked, managing a smile.

Steve's cheeks were flushed in the low light, but he nodded. “Yeah.” His head ducked down a bit, his face buried behind his folded arms. “I don't know why.”

Tony shrugged. “Things get caught in the drift. And there are worse dreams you could be having, right?” he asked.

“Right.” A faint shudder rolled over Steve's frame, visible even in the dark, and Tony had to brace himself against reaching for him. His hands curled into fists, gripping nothing with all the force he could muster. He wasn't sure, anymore, what was welcome and what wasn't; it felt like a lifetime since he'd known where he stood with Steve.

“Now it's mostly me showing up at your door,” Tony said, shaking off the sensation of things that he wasn't going to have. No matter how his plans worked out, no matter how much courage he mustered, some things, he was never going to have. But that was okay, that was fine. He had this. He had an empty bowl and Steve's eyes, eyes that were not nearly so haunted now.

Steve smiled, a bit more of the strain melting out of his expression. “You always know when I need you,” he said. “I never understood that.”

Tony frowned at him. “What?”

Steve's smile stretched wide. “Whenever I have a bad night,” he said. “You always show up. Somehow, you always know.”

For an instant, Tony just stared at him, trying to take that in, and then he was laughing. 

“What?” Steve asked, grinning.

“What, you think we share some sort of mythical connection?” Tony grinned, laughter bubbling up in his throat. 

Steve shrugged. “You always show up at my door, ready for a sparring match. What am I supposed to think?”

Tony shook his head. “Steve. I show up pretty much every night,” he said, rolling his eyes. “I can't sleep, I can't ever sleep. I show up there every single night and tap on your door. But if you're sleeping? You never hear me.” He pushed himself to his feet. “It's got nothing to do with me knowing that you're not sleeping well. It's got everything to do with me sleeping worse than you.”

“Tony?”

Tony glanced back over his shoulder. “Yeah?”

Steve's face was shadowed, impossible to read. “Next time? Knock louder.” He grabbed the railing and pulled himself up. “Gym?”

Tony didn't like to think about the way he relaxed at the thought, at the way just the suggestion was enough to pull the stress from his spine, the ache from his temples. “Yeah,” he said, feeling the smile bloom on his face. “I think we can do that.”

*

“Don't tell me the Monk of Malibu is finally considering getting laid. It would break my heart.”

Steve glanced up from his lunch tray. “What?” he asked, and he probably looked like an idiot, his mouth full, caught in the act of taking a sip of coffee. He swallowed, coughing a little, and set his tin mug back down. “What?”

Carol was grinning down at him, her tray balanced between her palms. “You. And that pretty Marshall. Do I hear the chirping of looooooove birds?”

Steve felt his face heat. “What? No! I don't-” He fumbled his fork, and it clattered back to his tray. “What are you talking about?”

Laughing, Carol slid herself onto the bench. “I was just teasing, but man, now I suspect something is up. You have the worst poker face I've ever seen.”

“Are we sitting here?” Jane asked, coming up behind Carol. Betty was with her, covering a yawn with one hand and her tray balanced on her other hip. “Hi, Steve!”

“Yes, we're sitting here,” Carol said. She waved at the mess line, and settled back down. “With Steve. Because Steve is keeping secrets. And we all know that this is not acceptable.”

“Oh, is he?” Jane grinned at him as she set her tray down. Her dark eyes danced as she straddled the bench and reached for the coffee pot. “Steve! I thought we were friends!”

“It's too early for this,” Steve said, and Betty laughed. “No, I'm serious, I need you to not-”

“To what?” Jennifer said, her tray clattering down next to him. “Morning, Rogers!” Her hair was pulled back in a mess of curls, a handkerchief tied around her neck and her arms bare as she folded them on the table. “Oh, God, coffee. I swear, I will serve this place forever, just keep me caffeinated.”

“Amen,” Betty said, passing the steaming pot over. She yawned again, her eyes at half-mast, her gaze foggy and unfocused. 

“When's the last time you slept?” Steve asked her.

“Sleep is a very nice concept,” Betty explained. “But at the moment, I don't have a lot of practical experience with it.”

“Stop changing the subject,” Carol said, stabbing a spoon in his direction. “You. The lovely Marshall Carter. What's going on there?”

Steve went back to his scrambled eggs. “I have been assigned to escort Marshall Carter around the 'Dome for as long as her visit lasts,” he said, the words stiff. “That's it.”

Jennifer hummed under her breath, the sound distinctly disapproving. “Boring,” she said. “C'mon, Steve, you have to have some gossip for us.” She gave him a flirtatious smile, sweet and warm. “Something juicy?”

“I really don't,” he said, and he wondered why he sounded apologetic about that. He couldn't quite stop himself from adding, “Sorry.”

Carol huffed out a snort, her lips pursed tight. “You'd tell me if they were reassigning you, wouldn't you?” she asked, catching Steve off guard.

“What? Wait, you think-” He looked around, meeting each pair of eyes, and read the truth there on their faces. “No,” he said, flat and unequivocal. “Neither she nor Marshall Fury has said a word to me about leaving Malibu.”

Carol's shoulders slumped. There was relief there, plain on her face, before she covered it with a smirk. “Maybe she hasn't mentioned it,” she said, stabbing a bite of hash browns with her fork, “maybe she's just going to lure you away.”

“She's not going to- Are you listening to yourself?” Steve asked her, grinning.

“I am just saying, you have not gotten laid in forever, and even you need to-”

“Man, am I entering this conversation at the wrong time. Who are we sacrificing the Monk of Malibu to?” Tony asked from behind Steve, and Steve choked on his coffee.

“We think the new Marshall is gettin' all flirty with our best boy here,” Jane said, grinning. “Steve, do you need medical assistance?”

Steve waved her off, still coughing, as Tony patted him on the back. “No, what, is that what you call me?” he asked, his voice rough.

“What, the Monk of Malibu? Yeah,” Tony said, sitting down on Steve's other side. “Not me, though. Mostly them.”

“You are a liar, Tony Stark,” Jane said, kicking him under the table. “Thor says-”

Tony scooted sideways on the bench, grinning at her. “Thor says that you're not speaking to him at the moment, so let's not pick on other people's love lives.”

“He's being an idiot,” Jane said, digging into her eggs. “I haven't seen him in a week, and then he stumbles in, and before I can even say hello, he's facedown on my bed and snoring.” She chewed, her mouth pursed up tight. “Snoring.”

“Snoring, or SNORING?” Jennifer asked.

“I slept in the medbay,” Jane said.

“Ouch,” Betty said. She leaned her chin on her fist. “Still, he's been working hard, you could cut him some slack.”

“I didn't drag his pathetic ass out into the hallway and leave him there without pants,” Jane said, her smile cutting. “That's about the slack I could manage.”

“Seems fair,” Jennifer said into her coffee cup. “But he gets sad and mopey when you're not talking to him.” She pointed her cup at Jane. “Take pity on the work crews and just, I don't know, ruffle his hair. A little attention from you goes a long way. He's easy.”

“He is. I'll stop by at lunch,” Jane said. She was flushed, a small smile still playing around her mouth. “I've got work of my own to do this morning.”

“The Monk of Malibu?” Steve asked Tony.

“You haven't had a date in forever,” Tony said. “People take that as a challenge.”

“Why do I have to-” Steve shut his mouth before he could say something really stupid, like the fact that the person he was interested in was not interested him, so dating had kind of lost its allure for the most part. He'd never been particularly good at it anyway. “We're in the middle of a war here, I'm not sure that it's the best place to start a romance.”

“I would argue it is the best place to start a romance,” Tony countered. “We might not get another chance.”

“Not everyone can be you, Tony,” Betty said, giving Steve a sympathetic look. “You date everyone.”

“That is not true. That is a blatant lie,” Tony said, his face a mask of hurt. He couldn't maintain the facade for very long. “You keep turning me down.”

“Because you are a shameless flirt,” Betty said, her lips twitching. “No one with any sense takes you seriously.”

Tony clutched his chest. “Dr. Ross! I believe my honor is being impugned!” 

“Besides, you're only doing it so that Bruce will get his act in gear,” Jane said, tapping her fork on her tray. “And everyone knows it.”

“Pure supposition,” Tony said, grinning. “Betty. Really. Let's go dancing, then back to my place to go over my-” He wiggled his eyebrows. “Data.”

“Does that work on anyone?” she asked, her expression completely deadpan.

“More than you would believe.”

“I was having a nice, quiet breakfast,” Steve said to no one in particular, because no one was really paying attention to him, and he should probably let that continue. He should probably encourage that.

“Seriously,” Carol said to Steve, “when is the last time you slept with anyone?”

His face heated, and Steve did everything possible not to look at Tony. To not remember the warmth of Tony's body, the strength of his arms, the smell of his skin, the steady, strangely familiar sound of his heartbeat. He tried not to think about any of it, and failed completely. He shifted in his seat, ignoring the way his body responded to the thoughts that he absolutely was not allowing himself to dwell on.

“I don't see how that's anyone's business,” he said, his voice tight, and Carol held up a hand.

“Okay, okay,” she said, giving him a smile. “I get it, fine!” She went back to her breakfast, trying to hide her smile. “No more teasing. But seriously, Steve, if you want a date, I've got a nice waiting list.”

“What?” Steve said, still definitely not looking at Tony.

“What does it take to be moved to the top of that list?” Jennifer asked.

“I'll take that orange off your hands,” Carol said, and she caught the fruit as Jennifer flipped it to her. “Excellent. Consider yourself first in line.”

“Did you just sell his virtue for an ORANGE?” Tony asked Carol. “One? One orange? I would've held out for at least a box of the damn things.”

Carol fluttered her eyelashes at him. “Are you considering outbidding her?” she asked.

“Okay, that's enough, thank you,” Steve said, and he knew he was still blushing, and Tony was grinning over at him, his dark eyes dancing, and that did not help Steve with his burgeoning erection. “Thank you very much, do not tell people I will date them for fruit, that's just, that's not acceptable, Carol.”

“I'll hold out for protein,” Carol said, her voice serious.

“I do not need a matchmaker, Carol,” he started.

“I think she's closer to a pimp at this point,” Tony said.

“Rude, Stark,” Carol said with a smirk.

“Accurate, Danvers,” he shot back.

“I can find a date on my own,” Steve finished, ignoring them both. He gave Carol a look that he hoped was fierce and disapproving, and all she did was make a halfhearted effort to hide her smile by shoving an orange slice in her mouth.

“Actual evidence says that you really can't,” Tony said. 

“Actual evidence says that you need all the help you can get, and I'm hungry.” Carol grinned at him.

“Thank you, Carol,” Steve gritted out. “Are you off or on with Rhodes this week?”

“Hard to say, ask me after the next Kaiju battle,” she said, not in the least bit bothered. Her fingernails dug into the skin of the orange, stripping it away in one neat length. “He's changeable.”

“He gets overwhelmed by the drift sometimes,” Tony told her, stealing a piece of orange.

“Yeah?” she asked, her eyebrows arching.

Tony grinned. “Oh, yeah. Just ride it out. He'll come around.”

“Good to know.” She gave Steve a look. “None of us are perfect, Steve, but we're trying.”

Betty raised a hand. “I'm not. I'm not trying.”

“I'm trying hard enough for both of us,” Jennifer told her. “And if you don't take pity on Banner one of these days, someone else is going to do it for you.”

“And I think I'm done with breakfast,” Betty said, rising to her feet. There was a distinct flush to her cheeks, and her eyes darted away from everyone's gaze.

“Me, too. Let's go,” Steve said, taking her tray from her hands. “Before they decide we need more 'help.'”

“Play nice with the Marshall!” Tony called after him, and Steve gave him a look. “Or don't.” Tony's teeth flashed in a predatory grin. “You know. If that's what you're into.”

“You are incorrigible,” Steve told him, stalking away from the table.

“He's a little boy, I swear,” Betty said, half running to keep up with him. Steve slowed down, embarrassed, and she caught up in a couple of steps. “Thank you. Long legs, Steve.”

“Sorry,” he said. He took a deep breath, and let it out. “I'd blame Tony, but that's pretty immature, too.”

Betty smiled. “He likes you. A lot. Why do you think he teases you?”

“One of these days,” Steve said, eyes rolling, “I'm going to pitch him off the side of the 'Dome.”

Betty's eyes slid up towards his. “No,” she said, her lips a sweet little curve. “No, you won't.”

“No, I won't,” he agreed, heaving a sigh. He glanced at her as he passed their empty trays back to the kitchen staff. “You and Bruce?”

Her hands were tucked behind her, her fingers twisting together. “We have a history,” she said. “It doesn't make things... Easy.”

Steve glanced back at the table, where Tony was slumped forward, his hands wrapped around a cup of coffee. As Steve watched, he straightened up, shoving a hand through his hair, muscles flexing in his back beneath his thin t-shirt. “Yeah. It really doesn't.” When he looked back, Betty was watching him. “You'd think it would,” he said, and his voice was wistful.

“Depends on what the history is, I guess.” She reached up, pulling her hair back into a loose braid, her fingers quick. “I thought the two of you-”

“No,” Steve said. “It all changed. When Bucky died.” He wasn't sure why. Or how. But somehow, it had. Everything had changed when Bucky died.

He'd lost so much that day that he wasn't sure how he managed to bear it. 

*

Thor studied the plans, one broad hand braced against the small desk on the edge of the repair bays “You, my friend, are truly mad.”

Tony opened his mouth to object, then closed it again. “Maybe,” he said, bouncing his head from side to side as he considered it. He tipped his coffee cup in Thor's direction. “I'm fine with that, so long as I get results.”

Letting out a bark of laughter, Thor pounded him on the shoulder, the blow hard enough to knock Tony forward a couple of steps. “It is a brilliant sort of madness!” he said, his grin broad. “But, you truly think this will work?”

Tony rubbed his shoulder. “I know it will.” He tossed his empty cup to the desk and rolled up the blueprints with quick hands. “Iron Commander's nearly up to code, on time and on budget, and this will change everything. This will revolutionize Jaeger production, this will revolutionize this fight.”

“If the reactor can handle the strain,” Thor said, crossing his arms. 

“The arc reactor can handle the strain, and then some,” Tony said, and this might've been hope. He wasn't sure. He hadn't had much experience with that particular emotion. “If we can put it in place, then we can-”

There was a massive bang, a wave of noise and viciously hot air that hit so hard that Tony was knocked off his feet. He hit the ground, the heel of one hand taking the impact and the force went right through his bones, his wrist and elbow giving way and he was bouncing off the floor.

In the silence that followed, Tony could only hear the thudding of his pulse in his ears, and then, just like that, sirens wailed to life.

“What the hell?” Even as the sound of the explosion was still echoing in the air, Tony was already moving, already up plowing through the crowd. But even as he said it, he knew what it was, he knew what had happened in the repair bay, where the Invisible Flame was undergoing a quick retrofit.

“The plasma relays,” Thor said, and he was running already, his massive feet pounding on the metal grating. “We've lost one of the relays! The Flame is still live!”

Everywhere around the Jaeger, workers were in full evacuation mode, throwing tools into their bags and over their shoulders, moving towards the egress points as quickly as they could, clearing the floor as the alarms continued to whine. Tony felt like a fish swimming upstream as he ran directly towards the developing disaster. “Pietro!” he yelled. “Get to LOCCENT and tell them we're connected! We are on the grid, we have live weapons!”

The words were barely out of his mouth before Pietro was out the door, running full out, fast and steady on his feet despite the chaos around them. But even as he disappeared out of the repair bay, that chaos was already falling into something approaching order. In some part of his brain, some distant and detached part, Tony was proud of how quickly the crews were following protocol. They had been trained, they had been drilled, but every time something went wrong on the work floor, he saw how much it mattered.

Everyone knew what they had to do now, and they did it.

“The safeties-” Thor was saying.

“They're off, they're off, they're off, we were working on the circuitry and there should not have been live relays, fuck, fuck, FUCK!” Tony's tool pouch bounced hard against his hip as he ran, and he barely noticed. A glance up at the Flame made it clear what they were dealing with. A panel had been blown free by the force of the overload. Luckily, it had landed on a section of the moveable scaffolding that surrounding the Jaeger. Less luckily, the scaffolding had buckled under the weight, clamps and wires pulling free from their anchor points, and now it hung at the point of collapse, swaying in mid-air.

“Goddamn it,” Tony bit out, heading for one of the intact scaffolds, trying to get a better view of just what they were dealing with. There were people on the ground, people that had fallen or that were trapped by the falling metal. “Thor, get them out of there, before the rest of it comes down!”

“Aye.” Thor was off and running, and Tony shot upwards.

Every step up, he knew it was useless. The damage was too widespread. They needed to brace the damn thing, but he didn't have the angle to manage it. Up above, he saw a flicker of movement, and realized the Spiders were still in place. Peter swung a leg over the top of the railing and Tony's heart stopped.

Peter wasn't wearing his harness.

“NO!” Tony scrambled across the walkway. “NO, NO, DON'T-”

It was too late, Peter was over the railing, sliding down, hopping and bouncing, his fingers finding handholds on every inch of the Jaeger, and in a handful of quick leaps, he was at the connection. The wire was still dangling in the pulley system that had originally anchored it, and Peter scooped it up. Bracing his feet, he wrapped the cord around his arms and pulled.

The scaffold shuddered, but it held, and inch by inch, Peter forced the wire back into its anchor point, securing the center structure. For an instant, it swayed, the heavy, twisted weight of the upper levels pulling hard against his efforts, and one of the metal struts far at the top gave way with a bang.

Above him, one of the sections of the scaffolding's walkway came loose, crashing down into the side of the Jaeger, trailing wires and fragments of metal in its wake. Peter's head came around, just a second too late, and a chunk of railing clipped him on the temple, knocking him back, knocking him loose, and just like that, he was in free-fall.

Tony heard himself screaming, and it wasn't enough, it wasn't anything, but he was running as the boy slid sideways, his head lolling at a bad angle as he tumbled free of the surface of the Jaeger, limbs tumbling as he fell. 

Araña caught him in mid-air, her swing carrying more force than grace, but perfectly timed, and her arm went around him, catching and clinging.

For an instant, Araña and Peter were a tangled mass, one of Araña's hands grabbing hard at Peter's jumpsuit, the two of them off balance and off course, swinging hard into the metal side of the Jaeger. They hit, and Araña screamed, high and sharp and full of pain, but she didn't let go, she just wrapped her legs around Peter's limp body when her arm fell away. The cable that connected Araña to the support sent them in a wild swing, even as she struggled to bring them to a stop. 

“Hold on,” Tony screamed, as he ran the length of the catwalk. “Go, go, go, clear the structure, get clear, now!” He was yelling, and everyone was moving, the healthy carrying the injured, all of them moving as fast as they could, and up above, Jessica was already dropping down, a flat dive of movement, fearless and fast and not nearly fast enough.

A line cut through the air, wrapping around Araña's support wire, pulling the two injured Spiders closer to the intact scaffolding. His hands wrapped around the guide wire, Miles was standing on top of a railing, his bare feet braced, his body leaning back with all the force he could manage, his face twisted with fear and concentration. Jessica slid into place behind Araña, her free arm taking Peter's weight and pushing them forward into the waiting hands of dozens of other workers. In seconds, all four of the Spiders were all over the railing and safe on the intact scaffolding.

Tony was swearing in languages he didn't even know. “Everyone, off! Now! We're not taking any chances, if that one goes down, this one could, too, everyone, get down, do it now!”

All over, people were running downwards, jumping free, and there was no panic, no fear, just the quick, practiced actions of those that had been drilled in the path to take, over and over and over. Down below, in the collapsed fragments of the scaffolding, medics were rushing in to treat those who'd fallen, or been hit by the falling debris, even as the healthy got clear.

Heedless of the danger, Jane was on her knees, her body braced over an injured man, giving him what cover she could, and as debris clattered down around her, Steve was suddenly right next to her, a chunk of metal sheeting held like a shield over them both. Something struck it, dead on, and Steve didn't flinch, just folded himself closer to Jane, pushing her down. 

Tony was running up, even as everyone else went down, searching desperately for some way to ward off the collapse, and not seeing it. Too much damage, too few hands, and he knew, he knew with a glance that it was going to go down, and there was no way they could clear the ground in time. The massive chunk of the Flame's armor hung heavy on the failing scaffolding, ready to fall and crush anyone who was still in the way. Swearing, Tony reached for his toolbag,, throwing it open.

The prototype was right there, untested, untried, and right now, the only chance he had. He slid his palm into the complicated arrangement of wires, pulling it up tight and cranking the output to the highest level, the highest setting he could manage and not blow his own arm off.

There was a crack, of metal failing, of something breaking, and huge piece of the Jaeger's fallen plating peeled free.

Tony glanced over the edge, down to the ground, and he had an instant to see Steve, pushing a massive sheet of metal into place, bracing it with his shoulders, his arms, providing a makeshift cover for the injured at his feet as the piece of armor tumbled down. Next to him, Thor set his feet and pushed up, the two of them holding the metal sheet in place, putting their lives on the line as they tried to provide some semblance of cover, and it wasn't going to be enough.

Tony didn't even think as he brought his arm up. He just prayed.

“Please work please work please work please-” Locking his arm, bracing his wrist with his other hand, Tony triggered the mechanism, and for a second, he didn't think it was going to fire.

Then the repulsor went off, the flare of light brilliant, the force of it enough to lift him off his feet and send him slamming back into the unyielding form of the Jaeger, his body impacting with the metal with a bone jarring crash. But the flare of light and force enveloped the falling chunk of armor, blowing it apart with a roar. Fragments or metal went clattering to the ground, ricocheting against the makeshift shield that Steve and Thor were holding, rattling across the metal flooring like dice.

Tony grabbed for the railing, dragging himself up, and cursed as the repulsor overheated, the materials melting and fusing together. He ripped it off, tossing it away, and flicking his hand up and down, trying to cool the burning sensation, even as he rolled to his feet, scrambling hard to get himself moving. He stumbled, fell, crashing to his knees before he finally managed to get to the stairs. He half ran, half fell, all the way down to the floor.

He reached the bottom just in time to watch the medical staff secure Peter, dozens of hands guiding the boy carefully onto the stretcher the medics had carried into place. He was still and pale, blood splattered across the white plane of his cheek, but he was breathing, slow and steady. As soon as he was just like that, they were off and running.

Araña was seated in front of Jane, her face streaked with tears, her pupils dilated, her breath coming in fast, hard pants.

“How bad?” Tony asked.

“Think it's her collarbone,” Jessica said, her complexion gray. “She can't raise her arm, and she's in a lot of pain, but that's not bad. That, that heals, and pretty fast.” She stroked Araña's hair away from her tear streaked cheek. “It's okay, niña, it's okay. You're going to be just fine.”

“She's in shock,” Jane said, and she was filthy and battered, her dark hair covered in a fine layer of dust, but her eyes were sharp. “We've got them. They're the worst. A lot of scrapes and cuts, a possible broken wrist, and a couple of head injuries.” She gave Tony a smile. “Luckily, it's a hard hat area.”

“Luckily,” Steve said from behind Tony. “Very, very luckily.”

“At this point, I'll take it.” Jane waved the medics in. “Let's get the rest of the injured out of here, they do not get to tell us if they're injured or not, if you suspect so much as a hangnail, they go to medical and we'll check them out.”

“I'll begin to make this right,” Thor said. Without waiting for a reply, he headed into the chaos, giving orders as he went.

Steve huffed out a breath. “I was going to see if you wanted to get lunch,” he said. “But it looks like we've all going to be working straight through.” He ran a hand through his hair, revealing a scrape high on his temple.

“Are you all right?” Tony gritted out, and he was shaking, he felt the faint, almost invisible tremor that was rolling through his frame, his fingers jerking ineffectively against his chest, and that was fine, he was fine with that. He choked down the rage, the fear, curling his fingers into his palms, fists resting hard against his thighs.

Steve nodded. “What happened?”

Tony glanced at him. “Storm,” he gritted out, his feet already rattling against the floor. He was bone white, his face so pale that it was frightening, a muscle twitching in his jawline. “He didn't run the check list, he left the weapons primed, we didn't check it and took the safeties offline, and the damn fail safe failed.” He wheeled around, his fist lashing out, hitting hard against the unyielding metal panel. “Goddamned IDIOT,” Tony snarled. 

Steve grabbed his arm. “Calm down, it's over, it's done, we're fine, do not go off-”

Tony shrugged his hand away. “He could've killed someone!” Tony snapped. “If Araña hadn't-” His heart was pounding hard in his chest, the thud of his pulse deafening in his ears. “Someone could've died, someone WOULD'VE died.”

“Stark!” Agent Coulson was walking through the crowds, his footsteps brisk and controlled, even as he gestured to the guards and medical staff following in his wake. Things were calming down now, with Thor and dozens of other workers already starting to clear away the damaged scaffolding. 

Tony waved him off. “Let's get to work on those relays, we've got electrical systems to deal with before we can get this crate moving again! Get me the spare plating, and let's get the scaffolding rebuilt!”

Coulson stepped in front of him, effectively stopping his forward momentum. Tony, against his will, pulled up short, coming to a stop. “What.”

“Marshall Fury wants to talk to you.”

“Marshall Fury can-” He swallowed the rest of the words before Coulson's eyebrow could even finish arching upwards. “We've got to get this-”

“It's being handled.” Coulson wasn't budging. “Let's go.” His eyes flicked over Tony's shoulder, to where Steve was still standing. Whatever he saw there, he didn't say a word when Steve fell into step behind Tony.

*

Johnny Storm looked absurdly young. 

Steve was caught between wanting the Ranger to be in his class, where he could beat some sense into the boy, and being glad that he was never put in that position. He wasn't sure he could hold onto his temper. He was barely managing it now.

Next to him, Tony might as well have been a statue, his arms folded across his chest, his shoulders braced against the wall, his eyes staring at some fixed point across the corridor. His face was a stiff, blank mask, but Steve knew him well enough to see beneath it to the rage that simmered underneath.

Steve held ground between the two of them, his gaze fixated on the closed door to Fury's office. Fury had walked past them, crooking a finger at Sue Storm, who had followed him silently into the office. He'd shut the door and since then, silence had reigned in the hall.

“What are you even doing here?” Johnny said.

“Same as you, being debriefed after the latest disaster.”

“Stop it,” Steve told them both, and he knew it was a lost cause, even as the words were coming out of his mouth.

"They should've checked the safeties before they started working," Johnny snapped, his face set in a scowl.

"Yeah, they should have," Tony shot back. "My mistake. I've let them start trusting in their pilots to do the checklist except in the case of injury or emergency, and, last I checked, your last run was clear of both." The look he leveled at Johnny was absolutely filled with disdain. "I'll make sure that they understand that certain Jaeger jockeys need to have their work be double checked."

Johnny's face went white, and Steve gritted his teeth. "Okay, enough," he said, stepping between the two of them. Johnny tried to shove past him, and Steve stood his ground, an absolutely immoveable object. "Enough," he repeated, the word very soft, and very careful. He held Johnny's gaze until the boy finally twisted away, stalking back to the other end of the hallway. Then, Steve turned his glare on Tony. "There's no reason to resort to insults."

Tony gave him a tight smile. "From where I'm standing, there's every reason to result to insults. He didn't do his job."

"My job?" Johnny stalked forward again, and this time, he and Tony faced off. "I only have one job, Stark. And that's to take out every Kaiju that comes through the Breach. That is my job, and I get the job done." Johnny gave him a look that was filled with loathing. “That's the only thing that matters.”

"Oh? Is that why you're standing out in the hallway like a kid waiting for the principal to finish talking with his mom?" Tony asked,. and Steve wanted to shake him, he really did, because the last thing they needed right now was Tony's more asshole side making the situation worse.

Johnny's face flushed an ugly red, and he stepped forward, jamming a finger into Tony's chest. "You know what? I don't have to put up with your smart mouth," he gritted out. 

"That's weird, I was just about to say that exact thing to you," Tony said, knocking Johnny's hand away with a flick of his wrist. "Shut up, and wait for the good Marshall to decide what's to be done with you."

"You can play armchair Ranger all you want, but we all know the truth.” He leaned in, his face flushed, an ugly red that made his eyes seem even more fevered. “You're no pilot, you washed out of the program," Johnny said, and Steve stiffened.

Tony gave a faint little chuckle. "That's right," he said, crossing his arms over his chest. He had a self-satisfied smile on his face, his eyes heavy lidded. "I did. Got all the way to the final checks, before they booted me, too. Your point?"

"You're a disgrace, that's my point-"

"That's enough," Steve said, and it was louder than he'd intended, louder and sharper, no patience left for this. "You're out of line."

Johnny turned on him, frustration and rage visible in his face. "Go back to your class, and leave the actual heroics to those of us who still have the balls to do the job," Johnny said, and it was entirely likely that he never saw Tony's fist coming. Tony's punch connected, with brutal force and accuracy, with Johnny's jaw. Steve, caught completely off guard, grabbed for Tony, but he was far too late to keep them apart.

Johnny stumbled backwards, his face morphing into an expression of shock, of utter confusion, for just a second, and then he put the pieces together. Without a word, without another beat of pause, he lunged at Tony, powering forward, the full weight of his body behind the blow. Tony blocked it, deflecting and coming around to land a hard punch in Johnny's ribs, but he wasn't able to avoid Johnny's uppercut. Tony stumbled backwards, finding his feet just before Johnny crashed into him, the two of them slamming hard into the wall.

"Hey!" Steve grabbed for Tony's shoulder, and Johnny's, prying them apart and forcing his way between them. "That's enough! Are you both out of your ever-loving minds?"

"He started it," Johnny seethed, and Tony shoved hard against Steve's grip, his legs set, his body pushing forward. Steve reset his feet, his shoulders bunching with the effort needed to keep Tony in place. 

“Enough, Tony,” Steve gritted out. “Before we all end up-”

“Yeah, that's right,” Johnny said. He reached up, swiping the back of his hand against his mouth. His fingers came away streaked with blood, and he scrubbed at the corner of his lips. “Be a good little boy for your boyfriend.”

Steve flushed, but Tony just gave a little chuckle, full of disdain. “Oh, kiddo, he can do so much better than me.”

“Knock it off,” Steve told him, frustrated now. “Both of you. We can't have this!” He yanked Tony back another step, almost pulling him straight off of his feet. “We have a battle to fight and it is NOT with each other!”

“No, it is not.” Fury was standing in the doorway of his office, one big hand braced against the doorframe. “Ranger Storm, if you could please deal with your co-pilot?” he asked, and it was mostly unnecessary, because Sue was already stalking towards Johnny, her hand latching onto his arm and pulling him back and around. He tried to shake her off, and she jerked him around. Their eyes met, and all the fight went out of Johnny. He let her drag him back and away from Tony and Steve.

“He started it,” Johnny gritted out.

“And you should've been mature enough to walk away,” Sue said, and there was no anger in her voice, just something like resignation. Exhaustion.

Tony twisted against Steve's grip, and Steve let him go. Tony pulled away, not even glancing in Steve's direction. He shook out his hands, his breath coming in hard, sharp gusts. Steve's hands went to fists at his sides, wanting to do things that he knew he couldn't, and hating it.

"Let me give you some advice, son," Fury said to Johnny. "There are three groups of people in this world that you don't fuck with." He held up his hand, counting them off on his fingers. "One? Anyone who handles your food. Two? Anyone who handles your money. And three? Anyone who fixes your Jaeger." He shook his head. "It's a lousy idea, all around."

Johnny stared at him, mute and sullen, until Sue shook his shoulder. "Yes, sir, Marshall," he said, the words drawn out of him as if they pained him.

"Thank you for your forbearance, Marshall," Sue said, with a crisp nod. "Let's go, Johnny." Her hand locked on his elbow and she turned him around, marching him away. He tugged at her grip, but it appeared that she'd reached her limits with regards to his behavior, and she jerked him back into place with a single twitch of her hand.

Fury watched them go, and when they turned the corner, he let out a gusty sigh. "I do not envy that boy the lecture he's about to receive," he said. Without glancing at them, he hooked a thumb over his shoulder into his office. "Stark. In my office. Now."

Tony stalked forward, and Steve fell into step behind him. Fury blocked him with a single raised eyebrow and a hand on his chest. "Not you, Ranger."

"Sir, this is my-"

"Not your concern." Despite the clipped, firm quality of the words, there was something sympathetic in Fury's dark eye. He tipped his head down the corridor. "You have a class waiting for you, and I refuse to let this little personality clash throw off the functioning of my base any more than it already has."

"Sir-"

"You will attend to your cadets, Ranger." Fury's voice brooked no argument. "Do we understand one another."

Steve's eyes flicked over his shoulder, where he could see Tony, slumped into a visitor's chair, his legs thrown out in front of him, his face set in petulant, angry lines. As Steve watched, Tony reached up and swiped the back of his hand across his nose, scrubbing at the blood there. He stared straight forward, making a show of ignoring Steve's presence. Steve drew himself up. "Yes, sir," he said.

For a long moment, Fury seemed to weigh that response, but for what, Steve didn't know. "Dismissed, Ranger," he said at last, and he turned back into his office. He slid the door shut behind him, and it clicked into place with an final sounding clang.

Steve took a breath, and let it out. Frustrated, he turned on his heel and stalked away.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay on this one, guys! I've been focusing on finishing my Cap/Iron Man Big Bang piece, so everything else has fallen by the wayside!
> 
> Let's get things finished, shall we? 8)

"You want to tell me what the hell that was all about, Stark?" Fury asked. He paused beside his desk, his fingers resting, ever so lightly, on the surface of the metal. He didn't put any weight on his hand, but he still seemed braced and ready.

"No, sir."

Fury's fingers flexed, just the smallest twitch, but enough. “Fine. Then let's just move on to why I wanted to speak to you to begin with.”

“Let's,” Tony agreed, his voice sardonic. For a second, he didn't think that Fury was going to let him get away with it, but the Marshall just gave his head a quick shake.

“You want to tell me what your little toy was?” he asked, his voice quiet.

Tony's jaw locked. “No,” he said.

“Let's put that another way. What the hell was that?” Fury asked.

Tony's eyes slid up, meeting Fury's head on. “Prototype,” he said, with a tight smile. “It worked. To a certain extent.”

“And it fried. Not much left for us to take a look at to determine exactly what you're playing around with behind my back,” Fury agreed.

“One off,” Tony said, his foot rattling against the floor. He did his best to still it. “Another failure.”

“Tony-”

“No, seriously, it's done, it's a design failure, if I can actually get it to work, you'll be the first to know, are we done here?” Tony asked, his voice tight.

For a long moment, Fury just looked at him, his eye hooded, his face unreadable. Tony stared back, refusing to give in, refusing to let his gaze drop. Rage and frustration were still a stinging pressure in his chest, and it was all he could do to keep his seat. Finally, Fury let out a faint sigh, a barely audible exhale.

"Your father was one of the original Jaeger designers," he said, pushing away from his desk. He walked around the broad metal piece, his footsteps measured and careful. The click of his boot heels counted off the distance, and Tony stared, unseeing at the far wall. "Never thought that got the credit it deserves. That's our world, Tony. Jaeger pilots are rock stars, and those who did the hard work to put those weapons in our hands, those who gave us the tools to carry out this fight, they're footnotes in history."

He paused, his head coming down to stare at a folder that lay, precisely centered, in front of his chair. He tapped an index finger against it. "That's not right, but that's how things have shook out." His finger paused, and he took a deep breath. "So your father was a designer, and a pilot, and I think you always put more stock in the 'pilot' part of that equation."

"Is this an inspirational pep talk, sir? 'Cause, I'm gonna be honest, you kind of suck at it," Tony said, not bothering to move.

"It's a come to Jesus talk," Fury said, and he lowered himself into his chair like he ached, like he was exhausted. He pulled a folder out of a top drawer before slamming it shut. "Nothing inspirational about it. Just a little chat we need to have, you and me, about what you've been playing with up in that workshop of yours."

Tony's hands latched onto the arms of his chair, his muscles going tight all at once, his whole body tensing. "And what's that?"

Fury tossed the folder across the desk, and the contents spilled across the metal, photos and pages stark against the shining surface. "A way to get you into the pilot's seat."

Tony didn't touch them, didn't even look at any of it. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't give me that crap, Stark, I'm too goddamned tired for it." Fury stabbed a finger in his direction. "We need you. Jaeger pilots are rare, we all know how rare they are, but what you do? Is rarer. I need you, and every pilot out there needs you, and we're not risking you on some stupid gambit."

The folder was still there, the elephant in the room, and Tony wanted to kick something. "It'll work, the thing of it is-"

"Your father died in a Jaeger," Fury said, cutting him off with ruthless intent. "He died next to me, and I swore I would protect you, that I would raise you right." He stood. "Turned out to be a harder job than I ever could've dreamed." He stopped, his back to Tony. "Your job here is to keep every one of those pilots alive, and to do it in ways that no one else on earth could accomplish. I will not tolerate you risking yourself on a pipe dream."

"I can-"

"You will never pilot a Jaeger as long as I'm Marshall of this station," Fury said, and it was so calm, so precise that it hit like a blow. Tony rocked back in his seat, his breath leaving him in a rush of air. "I will not bury another Stark due to muleheaded stubbornness." His shoulders rose and fell, the breath a ripple through his body, barely disturbing his serene expression. "We're done here. You are dismissed."

Tony considered arguing. But he knew he'd have better luck having a fight with the bulkhead; it was as if Fury had already closed the door behind him. He pushed himself up, ignoring the way his chest ached, the way his shoulder burned with the movement. "Yes, sir," he said, and it was sarcastic and bitter and that was still better than sounding hurt.

He was halfway out the door when Fury's voice stopped him. "He would've been proud of you."

Tony glanced back. "My father," he said, with a tight smile, "made it clear what made him proud. And it wasn't me." Without waiting for Fury's response, he slammed his way out of the room, stomping out into the hallway. He headed for the stairs, and by the time he reached them, he was almost running, rage carrying him along

The workshop door was unlocked, and he shoved his way in, not at all surprised to find Pepper waiting for him. Her head came up, her arms clinging tightly to the folders clutched to her chest. “Oh, God, Tony, what happened, the repair bay is chaos, and Thor is raging and-”

“You sold me out,” he snapped, and Pepper froze.

“Excuse me?” she said at last, and her voice was edged with frost. Her eyes narrowed, she set her folders down on the workbench as Tony stalked past, his hands going to his work just to keep the occupied. “You want to explain what you mean by that?”

“You heard me. You were the only one who knew what I was doing up here, you were the only one I let see, you had to know because I needed your help getting things from the black market, you were the only one who knew, and now, somehow, Fury knows.” Tony tossed a gauntlet at the workbench with more force than was strictly necessary, and it bounced and clattered its way across the surface. The sound was obscenely loud in the sudden silence of the room. “You fucking sold me out.”

Pepper stared at him, her face tight, her skin so pale that her freckles stood out like flecks of blood. “If,” she said, her voice very quiet and very controlled, “I was going to tell anyone about your SUICIDAL plans? It would not be the Marshall.” Her arms unfolded, and she set her folder very gently on the workbench. “Will that be all, Mr. Stark?”

Tony stared down at the fragments of metal and circuitry. “Pepper-”

She took three steps forward, and suddenly she was in his face, her narrow chin stuck out at a defiant angle. “Don't you dare 'Pepper' me,” she snapped, her eyes flashing. “Don't you dare. I have watched your back, I have kept your secrets, I have betrayed quite a lot of my ideals to keep you going, and once again?” She stuck a finger in the middle of his chest and pushed, each word a stab against his breastbone. “IF I was going to go behind your back, it would not be to Marshall Fury, Tony. Because he couldn't stop you if he tried.”

She spun on her heel, her ponytail snapping out behind her as she stalked towards the door. “When Steve shows up to stand between you and your absolute determination to die in a blaze of glory, Mr. Stark? THAT'S when you can be assured that I went behind your back and went for help.”

Tony winced, all the fury and frustration bleeding out of him, leaving him exhausted and ashamed. “Pepper, wait, Pep, I don't-”

“You are a JACKASS, Tony, and I hope you know that.” And with that she was gone, leaving the impression that she would've slammed the door if she could've managed it.

Tony let his head fall back. “Great,” he muttered. “Great, great, great, fucking GREAT,” and he spun, grabbing something from the workbench and flinging it at the far wall with all the strength in his arm. It hit the wall with a bang, and Tony was sinking to the ground, his legs giving out from under him. He ran a hand over his face, trying to ignore the way that it was shaking.

“Good fucking job, Stark.”

*

“Kate, Tommy? Check in with Pepper and find out where we need to move people and supplies. Molly, Teddy, help Thor with the scaffolding on the far side, they need more strong backs.”

“Yes, sir.” The boy gave Steve a quick nod, and then he was off and running. Molly bounced along in his wake, singing under her breath as she went.

Steve turned to the rest of the cadet squad. “The rest of you, spread out. Do whatever anyone tells you, and if I catch any of you complaining, I'll have you running laps for the rest of your training. Is that understood?”

A chorus of assents, and they were off and running, falling into place easily enough. Steve took a deep breath, and another one.

“That's weird.”

Steve jerked, an instinctive flinch that he couldn't quite quash. He glanced up and back, to where Wade was seated on the edge of the scaffold, legs swinging in mid-air. “Seriously,” he said, his chin braced on the railing. His head bobbed in an awkward and disquieting way with every word he said. He didn't seem to notice. “Jaeger pilots on the crew floor. It's unnatural.”

Steve took a deep breath. “Shouldn't be.” Wade made him tense. Which wasn't really Wade's fault. 

Wade pointed a finger in his direction. “Un. Natural. I am telling you.”

“Maybe some places. But not at Malibu.” Steve tried to relax. He headed for the ladder, for the already open sections of scaffolding. “Around here, it's the norm.” He climbed up quickly, his feet flickering over the rungs, pushing himself up to the first level. “At least with my classes, it's always going to be the norm.”

“Why?” Wade asked, his head rolling back and to the side, tracking Steve's movements. He was still wearing his battlesuit, a weird choice that was something they all ignored when it came to Wade. He was odd, in all senses of the word.

But there were a lot of odd soldiers in active duty, in any war. Maybe this was just Wade's way of handling his shell shock, of dealing with the ghosts in the drift. As odd as it was, Steve couldn't fault him for it. If he could still function, then his coping mechanisms clearly worked for him. And Steve wasn't in the habit of downplaying things that worked.

“Because,” he said, as Wade came up behind him, steps bouncing, almost skipping along, “they need to learn that no matter who the world and the media chooses to focus on? They are no better than any other worker here. That they might head out to fight alone, but it's only because every person here has taken the risk of being on the supply lines. That every person here works demanding hours, under stressful conditions, to give them the Jaegers they pilot.”

“Makes you think, doesn't it?” Wade said as Steve scrambled up a ladder.

“I hope so.” Steve glanced up, then down to the floor. His head going back up, he frowned, trying to judge the distance and the location. Tony's tool box was visible from here, and that, that seemed right. For a second, he just closed his eyes, trying to remember, brief moments of clarity in the midst of the chaos, like snap shots that played out in rapid succession.

Things weren't quite stable here, the metal scaffolding still unsecured, and he picked he way carefully across the walkway. The tool box was open, and he grabbed for a wrench, securing a bolt of two, even as he picked his way across the metal grating.

“What're you looking for?” Wade asked, and he was peering up at the Jaeger, not at Steve, but Steve was pretty sure that Wade was talking to him.

“Ah, something that Tony had,” he said. He crouched down, testing a railing's support with sure hands. “He pulled it free, somewhere around here...”

“Oh, this?”

Steve glanced back in time to see Wade pull a tangled mass of wire and componants from his a pouch on his suit. He held it out towards Steve, who took it. “The thing that went kabooom-boom? Yeah. It fell down a couple of levels when he pitched it.” He spread his hands. “He always has the best toys, really, doesn't he have the greatest toys?”

“I don't think this counts as a toy.” Steve held it up, considering the wiring and the structure of the thing. It looked almost skeletal in this form, the wires trailing from the remains of something that had perhaps once been a round disc. It was damage, it was almost... Steve held it up, frowning. Melted. Whatever the main piece had been, it had damn well melted into a chunk of slag, with only the faintest hint of what it had once been.

“Depends on what game you're playing,” Wade said cheerfully.

“I don't want to play any game where this is part of the uniform,” Steve said. 

“Yes, you do,” Wade said, and Steve's head came up. But Wade had already wandered away, uninterested in the rest of the discussion. Or maybe just distracted by something shiny. It was hard to tell with Wade, sometimes.

“Hey!” Steve looked over his shoulder, and spotted Jennifer leaning up over the top of the ladder, her upper body just barely on level with the flooring. “Ranger Rogers, this area isn't secure yet. You're not supposed to be here.”

“I know, sorry.” Steve dropped the remains of the device into Tony's toolbox and closed the lid. Securing the locks, he picked it up with one hand, ignoring the weight. “Let me just get this out of the way, and I'll be right down.”

“Please do, you're a helpful sort of fella, but you're not even wearing your safety gear,” Jennifer said, her voice tight. But her smile was tolerant. “Get out of the way so that we can do our jobs, okay?”

“On my way.” Steve made his way carefully to the ladder, and followed Jennifer down. “I was just looking for something of Tony's.”

Jennifer gave him a sharp look. “What's going on with Marshall Fury?” she said, her voice quiet under the noise of the room.

“I don't know,” Steve said. His smile was tight and sharp. “I wasn't invited to that particular discussion.” He met Jennifer's eyes. “What is he doing?”

“I don't know.”

“Jenn...”

“I don't know,” she repeated, each word very careful, very sharp. “You think we haven't noticed what's happening? We're not stupid, Steve. And you might swing by on occasion for a quick chat or a cup of coffee, we spend ten to twelve hours a day with the man. You think we haven't figured out that something's up? We have.”

She slid down the last ladder, hitting the ground with a thump. “We just don't have any answers for you.”

Steve sighed. “Yeah. I know. I'm sorry.”

She looked up, meeting his eyes. “We're concerned for him, Steve, so, really? Get me some info and I'll do what I can for you, okay?”

Steve nodded. “Got it.” Hefting the toolbox, he followed her down to the ground. “Can we make a deal?”

“Maybe. What do you have to offer?” she said, her usual smile back.

“Just an information exchange. You hit him here at work, and I'll take care of the off hours when he's tired and his guard is down.”

Jennifer held out a hand. “You got yourself a deal, Cap.”

Steve shook it. “Good working with you, Ms. Walters.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Laughing, she took the toolbox from him. “I'll take care of this. Go get yourself a hard had if you're going to stick around, and stay out of the way unless someone gives you an actual job to do.”

“You have a job for me?” Steve asked, as she strode away, her hips swaying with every step.

She glanced over her shoulder, her lips turning up. “Just stand there and look pretty.”

Steve flushed. “I think I'm still capable of more than that.”

“That's a very important job, sir!”

“This feels like harassment,” Steve said, his lips twitching.

Jennifer pressed a hand to her chest. “Sir! I'm insulted! When I decide to harass you?” She headed off, her hair swinging in her wake. “There will be no doubt at all about that.”

“I-” He almost said, 'look forward to it,' but that would probably give her ideas. “I'll keep an eye out for that.”

“You do that!”

Shaking his head, Steve headed for the racks where the extra safety equipment hung, halfway there, he heard his name being called. Across the floor, Thor was standing, waving a hand in his direction. Snagging a hard hat, Steve jogged over to where Thor was standing, his hands braced on a metal table. Thor looked up as Steve approached.

“What manner of weapon can reduce our strongest alloys to this?” he asked, his voice pitched low. Straightening up, he waved his hand at the metal scraps that covered the table. “I know not what he is plotting, but I know I like it not.”

Steve studied the mangled remains. “I don't, either.” He picked up one of the larger chunks. “Has he told you anything?”

“Fragments, bits and pieces,” Thor admitted. “I thought his plans madness, but now to see them in action...” He pushed the golden strands of his hair away from his forehead. “I know them to be naught but madness.”

Steve looked up, to where Tony had been standing. “He blew it apart.”

Thor's head tipped in a nod. “Aye. Never have I seen such power in the hands of one man. If he can do this...” He crossed his arms, and he was twitchy, all of his movements were those of a man who had an excess of energy, and nothing to do with it. Steve studied him, wondering what secrets Thor was holding back. 

“He could take out a Jaeger,” Steve said, turning his attention back to the fragment of the Invisible Flame's chestplate. It was the strongest point on the Jaeger, the part intended to take blunt force, to take impact, without fracturing. 

And what was left of it was completely shattered.

“Tis not a Jaeger he intends to fight,” Thor said, his voice very soft, and Steve looked up, meeting his eyes. Thor looked deadly serious, his jaw tight. “We both know this.”

Steve took a deep breath. It hurt, old wounds stirring, physical as well as mental, and he hated everything about it. “We do.”

Thor glanced away. “What do we do?”

Steve's eyes closed. “I don't know.” It wasn't the answer either of them wanted, but it was the only one h had to offer.

*

“Is this a bad time?”

Tony's head shot up. Marshall Carter was standing in the open door to the workshop, her hands braced at shoulder level on either side of the doorframe. She was looking around, up at the domed glass ceiling, at the design schematics, at the glowing circuitry, looking everywhere other than at Tony. Tony pushed himself to his feet, feeling every one of his years in the way his bones ached and the way his skin pulled too tight over his frame, like he had outgrown it, or had never fit within it to begin with. “Yes, actually,” he said, not really expecting that would dissuade her in any way.

“I understand,” Marshall Carter said, her eyes finding his now that he was back on his feet, his pride propping him up when his strength would fail him. “It's just, you're a very difficult man to catch up with, Mr. Stark.”

“Yes, well, we've had damage to several of our Jeagers recently, and I'm working over time to get them all back up and running. How did you find me?” he asked. 

Her eyebrows arched. “Ranger Rogers has shown me every inch of this Shatterdome, with the exception of this dead space, way up on the peak of the station. Seemed odd. I did wonder what, or who, was hiding up here.”

He gave her a tight smile. “Well, now that you've run me to ground, literally, what can I do for you, Marshall?”

Her head tipped up again, glancing at the expanse of glass between them and the stormy sky. Rain slicked the windows, throwing shadows over her face and the floor. “If this is a bolt hole, it is a very impressive one,” she said. “How do you manage-”

“The first sign of movement in the breach, no matter where the Kaiju ends up heading, there's a series of shutter plates that come up to cover the windows,” Tony explained. He reached for one of the folders that Pepper had left behind, flipping it open and extracting the designs inside. One glance, and he winced. The damage was worse than he'd expected. Cursing under his breath, he reached for a pencil. “Seals it off. The alloy was one of my father's, it's never been replicated again, whatever he built this place out of? The secret died with him.”

“You were able to replicate his work on the arc reactor, though,” Carter said. She was moving now, her boots moving quietly over the metal floor. “There was a lot of fear, in the PPDC, when he died. That we'd have to go back to using nuclear reactors to power the Jaegers.”

Tony gave a shrug. “That wasn't particularly difficult. I didn't invent it, or even improve it that drastically. I just replicated his work and taught others to do the same.”

“You did, however, manage to miniaturize it.”

Tony froze, his breath seizing in his throat. In the silence that followed, Carter turned, coming to stand across the bench from him. Tony glanced up, meeting her eyes.

“Didn't you,” she said, and it was not a question.

Tony set his pencil down, very carefully. “What, exactly, do you want from me, Marshall?”

“It's not what I want from you, Mr. Stark. It's what I have to offer you.”

He gave her a tight smile. “And what, exactly, is that?”

Her head tipped to the side, her brilliant eyes shadowed beneath the sweep of her lashes. “You had some of the highest scores ever recorded in the Ranger program,” she said, the sudden change of topic catching him off guard. “In the simulator, as well as the physical aspects of the training initiative. You were raised by a Ranger, you spent your formulative years within a Shatterdome, you know more about the Jaegers themselves than perhaps any person living. You were raised around them, you've improved them by leaps and bounds.”

“Does this little trip down memory lane have a purpose?” Tony asked from between gritted teeth. He hated every word she was saying and he hated the politics behind it.

“Why aren't you piloting one of your Jaegers, Mr. Stark?”

He studied her, wondering where this was going. But when she gave no indication of continuing, he gave a mental shrug and answered her. “I have a heart condition,” Tony said, the words stark. He crossed his arms over his chest. “Not much of one, really. Genetic weakness. I can go through life, not have a problem. I can fight hand to hand, I can build, I can run my ass off, no problem.

“But I can't pilot a Jaeger,” he said, and the words still stung, they burned in his throat. “That's the reality. Even the strongest pilot'll be under an immense amount of stress during their first drift. Most undergo a series of micro seizures and rapid, very dangerous blood pressure fluctuations.” His fingers came up, brushing against his nose. “The neural handshake might limit the strain, but it doesn't eliminate it. The stress on the body in immense. PPDC medical wasn't willing to take the risk.”

She considered him. “Just how big of a risk?”

“Best medical minds of the corp estimated that I had less than a 25% chance of surviving my first battle. After that, the risk would stabilize at around 58%.” He smiled, cold and sharp. “As it turns out, the PPDC considered that to be unreasonable.”

“And your opinion?”

One shoulder rose and fell in a half shrug. “I would've taken my chances. I wasn't given the opportunity.” He pushed away from the workbench. “So what's this about?”

“Just gathering some information, Mr. Stark.”

“Yeah, no. You're a Marshall, from headquarters, which means that you have access to my entire medical file, if you wanted it. Which I'm sure you did. So you knew all of this.” Tony turned away, back to his designs, and reached for his pencil, needing something real to hold on to, to focus on. “You knew every single thing I just told you. So the question is, Marshall Carter, why were you so determined to have me tell it to you?”

For a moment, there was just the sound of his pencil sliding across the page, thin and rhythmic, steady and calming. He bent his head over his work, watching the idea take shape with each stroke of his fingers.

“What would you say if I could get you a chance at what you want most?”

Tony's pencil paused, the graphite digging into the paper with far too much force. He flexed his fingers, relaxing his grip. “Nice of you to offer, but I don't think Disneyland is still open, and even if it was, they didn't let you have sex on the rides, so that's not really an offer you can make.”

Marshall Carter walked around the workbench, her arms crossed over her chest, her chin up. “Very funny, Mr. Stark. But no.” She leaned forward, one hand coming down to rest just alongside his plans. “We know what you've been working on. We approve. But you lack what you need here. You're working with leftovers, with garbage. You're trying to build a new class of weaponry with a box of scraps.” She waved her hand at the dim surroundings. “In a tomb. In a cave.”

“Resources are thin, all around,” Tony said, trying to concentrate on his work. Trying to ignore the way his heart was thudding in his ears.

“Not at PPDC headquarters,” Carter said. She was smiling, just a little, when Tony glanced up. “Here's the reality of your situation, Mr. Stark. You can remain here, and be a glorified mechanic. Watching from the sidelines as others take your designs into the field and wreck them. Or you can come with me, and help us win this war. Once and for all.”

Tony was having trouble breathing, and he focused on filling his lungs. “I don't trust you,” he said at last.

“You don't have to trust me. Or trust the Corps,” Carter said, with a faint smile. “You just have to believe that we want this war won, and we will use whatever weapons we have access to, to do just that.” She turned around, crisp and sharp. “Think about my offer, Mr. Stark.”

Tony's pencil was working back and forth on the same inch of paper, until it was black. “Does Fury know you're making it?”

“No one knows I'm making it. Let's keep it that way, shall we?”

*

K-Science was in an uproar.

“Well, good morning to all of you, too,” Tony said, pausing just inside the door. “What the hell have you all been eating today? Gunpowder?”

There was a momentary break in the storm as everyone paused and looked at him. Then they were right back at it, Betty and Reed flat out yelling at each other. Tony looked at Bruce, who shook his head. “HEY!” Tony yelled. This time, everyone stopped. “Let's take a step back and tell the cranky, sleep deprived newcomer what the fuck is going on here!”

Betty turned and stalked back to her computer. Reed retreated to his chalkboard, snatching up a fresh piece and immediately starting in again. The chalk squeaked against the board, and Tony winced. “Well, that was half of what I asked for,” he said. “We've stopped yelling. Now can someone tell me what the yelling was about? Quietly?”

Bruce took a deep breath. “Reed thinks we're going to get a double event. And Betty thinks one of them is going to be headed straight for the Malibu Shatterdome.”

Tony paused. “Oh.”

Bruce gave him a tight lipped smile as he took a seat. His stool was an awkward piece of work, a little unsteady and a lot battered, but he perched on it with ease, his shoulders bunched forward. “Yeah,” he said. “Oh.” He removed his glasses and polished them on a mostly clean handkerchief. His head down, his voice quiet, he added, “And I, well, I think they're both right. Unfortunately.”

“Well, fuck.” Tony tossed his blueprints on the worktable. “That's not good.”

“No, it's not,” Betty said, her mouth tight. “We have, what, one functional Jaeger?”

Tony rubbed a hand over his face. “Yeah, we're working on Invisible Flame, and Foxtrot Ultra. Moon Wasp and Black Hawk are both in shape, but their pilots aren't. That leaves War Marvel, but I don't think it's a good idea to send them out alone against one Kaiju, let alone two.”

“Natasha and Heather are drift compatible,” Bruce said.

“Yes, they are, they'd take Moon Wasp, if they had to.”

“They'll have to,” Reed said. “We will see a double event.”

“And we will see a direct attack,” Betty said.

“That is not mathematically proven,” Reed snapped, but his face was tense, his shoulders tight. Tony could hear the uncertainty in his voice. What he believed and what he feared were two entirely different things.

“Math is not magic,” Betty snapped back. “And you can make your numbers say whatever you want them to say, but in the end?” She slapped a hand down on the table. “We'll find out soon enough, the question is, how prepared will we be for the eventuality?”

“Let me see what you've got,” Tony said, grabbing a chair and dragging it over to sit down next to her. Betty gave him a suspicious look, and Tony jerked a hand at the computer. “Betty, show me!”

Her face relaxed, just a little, and she pulled up the calculations. Tony leaned in, watching as the computer simulation ran through its paces. “Both will head for the California coastline?”

“Yes,” she said, leaning back in her chair. “Look, the single attacks aren't getting past our defenses. If Reed is right-”

“I am right,” Reed snapped, and Betty's eyes twitched towards the ceiling.

“And I'm running the calculations based on the belief that you are right!” she snapped back, and Bruce's hand came down on her shoulder. It was gentle, it was silent, but she relaxed, and with Bruce standing at one shoulder and Tony leaning over the other, she continued. “If Reed is right, then the reasoning for a double attack is to overwhelm the defenses. We've been sending out multiple Jaegers on the last couple of dozen accounts, to double team the Kaiju. It's a logical move. But the last couple of attacks have damaged a lot of Jaegers. We can't keep up with the repairs. We're still winning, but we're being beaten down.

“The Kaiju haven't made it past the Jaeger defenses in years, now. But with a double attack, if the first draws out all available defenses, which makes sense, to both defeat the Kaiju and also to protect the Jaegers and their pilots, then the second can aim for the now thinly defended coastline.” Her fingers danced over the keyboard, quick and clever. “If the first ends up following the model and heads here-” She tapped the screen, highlighting a spot on the map. “At Santa Monica, between Malibu and Los Angeles? Then PPDC procedure will lead us to emptying both Shatterdomes.”

“Los Angeles is almost in the same state of operation as we are,” Tony said, cupping one hand over his mouth, stroking over his beard. “They don't run as many Jaegers, but they don't have the repair speed we do. They've got two of their four out of commission right now, with no chance of getting either of them operational any time soon.” 

“Yes. So they send two, we send two, because that's all we have to send, and they engage somewhere safely out to see. But if there is a double event?” She cleared the map and reran the numbers. “If we assume a double, it changes the original landfall. To here.”

The map regenerated. “To San Clemente,” she said. “Which will move the fight so far down that by the time the second Kaiju clears the breach, there will be no time to recall any of the Jaegers to serve as defense.”

“And at that point, we're properly fucked,” Tony agreed. 

“At that point, we're properly fucked,” she agreed. “No Kaiju's ever cleared the Malibu Shatterdome. Not since the attacks started.”

“Dad built this place early, and added on to it continuously. It was a fortress from the beginning. Some of the first Jaegers launched from this base,” Tony said. “We've stood, undefeated, for all these years.”

“Which means that those who haven't been evacuated have gathered in the shadow of the Shatterdome,” Bruce said, his voice quiet. “We've got a massive population depending on us for protection at this point.”

“This is all theoretical,” Reed said from the chalkboard, but he wasn't writing. He hadn't been writing for a long time. He was just staring at the board, his hands hanging down at his sides. “We won't know if we're right until the next movement in the breach.”

Tony took a deep breath. “You're right. The question is, how much time do we have, Reed?” Reed didn't say anything. Didn't move. Tony felt his stomach drop. “How long, Reed?”

Reed's hand came out, and he placed his chalk in the tray, the delicate click loud in the silence of the room. “Not long at all.” He turned, meeting their eyes for the first time. He took a deep breath. “If the last few attacks are anything to go on? It will be in the next 24 hours.”

Tony stood. “That's not much time to argue our case with Fury.”

“There's nothing to argue,” Betty said. She gave him a faint smile. “Fury won't hold the Jaegers back on the assumption that there will be a second attack, and that this attack will be aimed at us.”

“We-”

“He won't,” Bruce said. “He won't risk losing Jaegers and crews on a theoretical assumption. If he holds one of our crews, and the second attack doesn't happen, it's going to go end up being a disaster.”

Tony took a deep breath. “We've still got to try, right?” He stood. “Let's go.”

The alarm started wailing, and Tony's eyes shut. “Move. Now. We're running out of time.”

*

When the alarms went off, so soon after the first round, Steve had thought it was a mistake. He'd thought it was announcing one of the crews returning, needing repairs. He'd thought that it was a warning about a change in the Kaiju's intended target. 

The reality of the situation nearly knocked the legs out from under him.

“A second Kaiju? So close on the heels of the one we're engaging down by LA?” he asked, and it wasn't that he didn't believe it, it's just that he was hoping that for once, the scuttlebutt wasn't right. 

Sam jogged along with him. “Yeah. With both our functioning Jaegers out, shit's about to hit the fan.”

“Yes, it is.” Steve picked up the pace, and Sam kept up with him. “I hear they're pulling someone back-”

“Who? Even if they could pull back one of ours, or one of Los Angeles? We'll never get them back here in time, not if this second Kaiju heads here, we're too damn close to the breach.” Sam shook his head. “Ross apparently convinced Fury to hold some of the support teams back, which is why Wyatt went out this morning, but I'm still here. We have the teams to move the Jaegers and to spot.”

“But who are you spotting for?” Steve said, frustrated.

Sam shook his head. “They didn't tell me, Cap. They told me to suit up and be on the pad, that's what I'm doing, and you got your orders, too.”

“Like the good soldiers we are.” Steve held up a hand, and Sam clasped it, his grip firm. “Be careful out there. We need you.”

“Get everything locked down, okay?” Sam's teeth flashed in a brilliant grin. “When I'm done kicking ass and taking names, I want a home to come back to.”

“Fine, but make it a quick mission, or I'm selling your possessions on the black market.”

Laughing, Sam shot off, heading for the lift at the far end of the hall. Steve stood there, watching until the door slid shut, and then he was off, moving back towards the center of the 'dome. There was work to be done all over. If Betty was right, they were about to face off against a Class Three Kaiju in a really bad mood, and without an available Jaeger to stop it.

“Steve!”

He looked up, seeing Pepper cutting through the crowd, moving fast despite the flow of personnel. Her face was pale, making her red nose and eyes all the more obvious. Pepper caught up to him, and Steve wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her to the side, away from the main corridor. “What's wrong?” he asked. “Pepper, what's wrong?”

"You deserve to know," she said, and she was breathing hard, in quick, violent sobs, her shoulders rising and falling with the force of it. She blinked hard.

"To know, to know what?" Steve asked, and she was more stable now, clearly pulling herself back under control. "Pep, we've got less than an hour to get everything locked down-"

"They're sending out Foxtrot Ultra."

Steve's eyes shut, his face screwing up. No choice. Of course. No choice. There wasn't another Shatterdome in a five hundred mile radius that could get them a crew or a Jaeger in time. Of course, they would send out Wade. "Who's the sacrificial lamb this time?" he gritted out. There was silence, and he glanced up to meet her eyes. Pepper's face was horrible. Steve's stomach sank. "Pep. Tell me it's not one of the new class." He sounded too urgent, too sharp, his voice vibrating with the force of it. "Please. Tell me that Fury's not sending one of those children out with him to-"

She was shaking her head, and her skin was so pale as to be translucent, so pale that her freckles were like pinpricks of blood. "They tried. But there's only one trained pilot who's drift compatible with him. There's no choice. There's only one." When Steve just stared at her, frustrated and confused, she let out her breath. "It's Tony."

Steve rocked back on his heels, his whole body snapping back, away from her, a physical retreat from something that, for a second, he couldn't comprehend. "What?" The word was thin, fine, almost inaudible, but she could read his lips.

Her head shaking, her eyes red, she repeated, "It's Tony. Coulson's run the numbers three times, he's been doing it since the first movement in the breach. There's no one else. He even tried himself, and Hill. And Fury. And you." She bit down on her bottom lip. "It's Tony. He's the only one."

"He'll die," Steve snapped out, and he was running, he hadn't even been aware of turning away from Pepper, he hadn't realized he was moving until he was flying up the hall, his legs churning up the distance. "Goddammit all to hell, they'll KILL him!"

"He knows!" Pepper called from behind him. The words echoed, hollow and empty, against the metal. "Steve! HE KNOWS!"

Steve plowed through the crowds, through the rushing mass of humanity, through the techs and the support personnel and the guards, he ran, and they all got out of his way, because he was still a Ranger, a useless one, a broken one, but he was a Ranger. And they got out of his way.

He hit Tony's door without even slowing down, his hand impacting first, and the rest of his body slamming in after it. He pounded on the door panel, wishing he had a weapon, or a key, some way to keep the damn thing closed, even as it opened. He stumbled backwards, his heart sinking.

Tony was composed, still, his flight suit a gleaming expanse of crimson red, picked out on the edges and accents with a metallic gold. He had a red and gold helmet under his arm, his gloved hand braced against the door frame. "I wondered if anyone was going to tell you," he said, his lips kicking up on one side. He stepped out of his room, and Steve stepped back, giving ground without thinking about it, his body reacting to what it was seeing by just going into full retreat. "Here to see me off?"

Steve's hand lashed out, catching Tony's elbow, and the grip was all he needed to center himself again. "I'm here to stop you," he said, stepping forward, crowding Tony, backing him back into the room. "You need to-"

Tony held his ground, refusing to move, even as Steve leaned into his body. "I have to go," he said, and his smile was faint, soft. But it was there, on his lips, in his eyes, that little half-amused smile that Steve knew so well. His eyes slid down to his elbow, where Steve's fingers were biting into the flight suit. "If that's okay with you, that is."

"No. No, it's not." Steve's head was pounding, his pulse thudding in his ears, and he leaned in. "Are you out of your mind?"

Tony pulled a face, his eyebrows arching and his mouth turning down in an inquisitive little frown. "Probably. Steve-"

"Wade. Wade, of all people, Wade, he's going to-" He choked on the word. "Tony, don't, don't do this, you can't-"

"What the hell choice do we have, Steve?" Tony asked, his eyes meeting Steve's dead on, warm and familiar. "It's our only choice. I'm the only choice. You think I don't know I'm a sucker bet? I know this. Wade knows this. Coulson and Hill and Fury know this. But you know what?" He jerked forward, his face in Steve's. "I'm all we've got."

"It'll kill you." The words hurt, they physically hurt, his throat and his chest and his whole body felt like he was burning. "If Wade doesn't, the Jaeger will."

Tony stared at him. His free hand came up, so fast and so hard that Steve couldn't have blocked it if he wanted to. Tony slammed his palm into Steve's shoulder, knocking him back a step, buying them both some breathing room. "You think this is news to me, Rogers? You think I don't know what I'm about to do? You think I can't-" He swallowed, his throat bobbing. "I've run the numbers. I know my chances. But I'm all we've got. I don't have to survive. I just have to hold the damn thing back until we can get one of the other teams back on site."

"You're not a sacrificial victim," Steve bit out.

"No," Tony said, his voice soft. "I'm a stalling tactic." His shoulders rose and fell in a shrug. "More than a thousand people in this base. Millions in the city behind it.”

Steve wanted to grab him by the shoulders and shake Tony til his teeth rattled, he wanted to shove Tony back into the room and bolt the door, he wanted a million mad things that he couldn't give voice to. Instead, he bit back a curse. “I can't-” He sucked in a breath, and another, ragged and uneven. “Goddammit, Tony, I can't lose you, too.”

Tony's lips curled up. “Steve? If I don't do this, you're going to lose me, anyway. And everyone else, too. Don't do that to me. Don't put that one on me.” 

Frustrated, half out of his mind, Steve leaned in. “Tony-”

That was as far as he got before Tony leaned in, before his lips brushed across Steve's, the kiss so fleeting that Steve almost didn't recognize that it had happened. He jerked back, shock rolling over his nerve endings, and Tony twisted his arm free of Steve's grip. “I always wanted to do that, before you died, or I did,” he said, his mouth twitching, and Steve felt it again, a ghost of a touch, the rough prickle of Tony's goatee against his skin. 

Tony had kissed him.

He sucked in a breath, dizzy with it, and just like that, Tony was pushing past him, the gleaming suit like a flame as he strode down the hallway, boots beating a rapid and steady tattoo on the metal flooring. In an instant, he was down the hall and around the corner, and gone.

Steve's hand was on his mouth, his fingers pressing too hard, way too hard, and his vision swam, and he couldn't see, couldn't think, couldn't-

Couldn't let Tony go to die alone.

Even as he was finishing the thought, he was running. Running full out, faster than he had thought he could, and it wasn't fast enough. He was running against the clock..


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: For those who have not seen Pacific Rim, this chapter deals extensively with the "Drift," the process by which two pilots control a single Jaeger. This involves a neural bridge that connects the pilots, allowing them to work as one. As a side effect to this, they become aware of each other's thoughts and memories, but there is no control over the exchange of information. Neither pilot can control what the other sees, and they have to be careful not to become too involved with a particular memory. The pilots try to flip rapidly through and past the information without getting stuck, the equivalent of flipping through a magazine article of still pictures, rather than sitting down to watch an entire season of a tv show.
> 
> The danger to the drift is that if the pilot becomes too involved with a memory, if they begin to 'chase the rabbit,' they will on some level integrate with the memory, taking the place of the individual in the course of the memory. They are forced to relive that moment, if it's theirs or their partners, unless they can break free of the memory, and the process can be traumatic and damaging. Experienced pilots try to stay in the drift, letting the memories flow without getting trapped. They might not always be successful.
> 
> Content warning: Survivor guilt, canon appropriate battle sequences and accompanying injuries. Chapter ends on a cliff hanger, sorry! (NOT AT ALL SORRY) As always, my rules hold. Everyone will be fine, okay? I promise. 8)

It took Tony a long moment to understand what he was seeing. His brain refused to comprehend, refused to process the information. 

Refused to process the visual of Steve striding through the doors in a brilliant blue and white battlesuit, helmet under his arm, his expression calm and blank and his eyes fixed on Marshall Fury.

Tony opened his mouth. "No."

Steve ignored him. "Reporting for duty, sir."

"This is a piss poor idea, Ranger," Fury said, eyebrows arching. "You want to explain yourself?"

"No explanation," Tony snapped. "Just, no. NO. Absolutely not, NO."

"So, should I still be here?" Wade asked. He didn't seem upset or angry or even confused. Just mildly curious about this new development.

"Wade," Steve said through clenched teeth, "please don't take this as an insult, but if you attempt to get into a Jaeger with him, I will break both of your legs."

There was a beat of silence, then Wade gave a little giggle. "Never let it be said that I stood in the way of true love," he said, throwing an arm around Tony's shoulders. "Mazel tov!"

"No," Tony said, furious now, so angry that even getting that tiny word out was nearly impossible. His head was swimming with it, and the rage was a dark tide from which he could not get free.

"I think everyone in this damn room is forgetting something," Fury said, and his voice boomed with enough force to set them all back on their heels. "None of you chooses your drift partners. This is not a love match, boys, it's an arranged marriage, and I am the one who does the arranging." He stared them all down, a muscle jumping in his jaw. "Rogers, what the hell do you think you're pulling here?"

Steve took a breath, a deep one, and he expanded with it, his shoulders impossibly wide beneath the armor of his flight suit. "Sir-"

"No, what do you think you're doing? You got three minutes to explain it before I pitch your ass in the brig."

"We have a brig?" Wade asked.

"For you? I'll have one made up. ROGERS."

"His chances are better with me."

"And what are you basing this on?" Tony snapped, right before Fury's hand slapped down on his chest and pushed him back a step. Tony shoved against him, but Fury didn't seem to notice.

"Wade, I am sorry, I am, but you never piloted a Jaeger alone. Did you?" Steve asked.

Wade's head tipped to the side. "No."

"One of your partners died on the pad from his injuries, and the other-"

"We crashed the Jaeger, and she died on site."

"You never controlled the Jaeger alone. I have." He looked at Fury. "You and I. We're the only ones. Aren't we? To bring a Jaeger in alone, to fight alone. Most die, the moment the full weight of the neural bridge hits them. Or they just can't function. But you and I-"

"We both paid a very high price for our competance," Fury said, his dark eye gleaming. "Didn't we, Ranger?"

"But I'm capable. I can carry more of the neural load, I've proved it. I can take the dominant hand, the dominant side, I can bear the brunt of the load." Steve was talking fast, the words coming with a staccato precision. 

"That's hypothetical at best," Fury said.

"No, sir, it is not. When Bucky lost his arm, we had to shift sides. I've worked both, I'm able to switch, and I'm able to compensate." Steve didn't flinch. "Tony's chances of survival, both of our chances of survival, go up if I'm in the comm-pod with him."

"I don't want you in my head."

Tony hadn't realized the words were there until they were said, until they slipped past his defenses and out of his mouth and he regretted them immediately. He regretted them for the way that Steve rocked back on his heels, for the way that his face twisted into something like agony, something like grief. He regretted it because it hurt, hearing them said aloud hurt like a raw wound, low in his stomach, humiliation and shame and pure pain.

Steve's shoulders straightened, and he drew himself up, and he exhaled, a shaky sound. "Then this won't work."

"Don't do this to me," Tony said, his voice low. He couldn't maintain the eye contact, he couldn't do it. He looked away, his eyes shutting. "Don't- Make me think of you carrying me around in your head like another ghost."

There was silence after that, cold and still. "It's not so bad," Wade said, and everyone looked at him with varying expressions of shock and disbelief. Wade shrugged. "It's not," he said. "At least they're not gone. And you're not alone. I mean, we're all gonna die, right? I at least keep them alive a little bit." He held up his hand, his thumb and index finger held about an inch apart. "Tiny bit. But better than anyone else gets. Mostly, you die, and you're Kaiju bait."

"You considered a second career in inspirational speeches, Wade?" Fury asked.

"No. You think I'd be good at it?"

"No."

Steve ignored them. "Tony. Look at me. Please." Reluctantly, Tony met his eyes. "I can't- I can't let you do this without me. I can't. You know numbers. You know odds. And your odds are much better with me. I know you. Better than anyone else alive. I know your fighting style, I know how you think, how you react, how you move. We spar four nights out of seven, most weeks. I can predict your movements, I can damn well nearly predict your thoughts. You might not want me in your head, but I am already there."

He took a deep breath. "I don't want to lose another partner, I don't want to lose another drift partner, another co-pilot."

"Then don't-" Tony started, and Steve grabbed his arm.

"But I cannot lose another friend. Not without doing everything possible to save you." His lips twitched. "Don't do that to me."

"Can you please see this from my point of view?" Tony said, his voice pitched low, the words strained. "I have to do this. There is no other option. And I want-" He stopped, swallowed, and it hurt, everything hurt. "I want to know you're safe."

Steve took a breath. "You don't take me," he said, a faint smile on his face, "and I'm going to try to take a Jaeger out on my own."

Tony felt the blood drain from his face. "That's insane." 

Steve shrugged. "You need backup. You're not leaving me behind. Either I go with you, of I come after you, and that will kill me."

He didn't even know he was going to do it, he didn't have any idea until his hand came up, shoving hard at the center of Steve's chest. "Fuck you." Steve rocked back with the force of the blow, but he didn't back up. "So that's it? You're going to black mail me to get what you want? Hold your own life as a bluff?"

Steve shrugged. "You've played poker with me, Tony. When do I bluff."

It wasn't a question, and Tony shook, he reached out, he grabbed hold of some random plate of Steve's armor, yanking him forward, until they were face to face, almost nose to nose. "Don't do this."

"Do you not want me in your head, or do you just not want me getting hurt?"

"Steve-"

"Do you not want me in your head?" Steve whispered. "Or are you just protecting me?"

Tony struggled to keep his breathing under control, to keep his pulse under control, he struggled to meet Steve's eyes. "I-"

"We all stand a better chance with him," Fury said, his voice flat.

"And I don't want to have broken legs. I've done that. I do not want to do that again," Wade said. “Just saying.”

Almost against his will, Tony huffed out a laugh. His head fell forward, his forehead coming to rest on Steve's shoulder, and Steve's hand wrapped around the nape of his neck, strong and familiar and the touch was enough to drain the tension from Tony's bones.

"Iron Commander's functional," he said, his voice muffled against Steve's shoulder, and Steve's fingers stilled. Just for a second. And then they squeezed.

"Thank God," he said, and Tony looked up to find him grinning, his face alight with it. All the pain and fear and anger was gone from his eyes, and they were clear blue, they were brilliant and painful to look at. "Thank you, Tony."

"I'm sorry-"

"I'm not," Steve interrupted. His grin was brilliant. "Thank you. Thank you for giving me back my shield. I know that Jaeger better than anyone, except maybe the guy that designed it."

"Luckily, he's coming along, too." Tony stared at him, trying to tell himself this was a bad idea. "Are you sure?"

"Yes." No pause. No thought. Just an immediate, sure response. "I'm not going to let you do this without me."

Tony took a breath. "Marshall?"

"Let's get the damn Jaeger prepped," Fury growled. "We're burning time we don't have, here."

Tony didn't move. “Is this because I kissed you?” he asked, very low, very quiet, and Steve's mouth went tight.

“It's because you're my best friend,” he said, his voice just as quiet. “The kiss, we'll discuss that after we make it back from this.”

Tony took a deep breath. “Well, that's something to look forward to,” he said.

*

News spread fast in the Shatterdome.

It always had. It always would. In wars, news traveled faster than the soldiers. Gossip broke like a wave in front of every troop movement, and there was always more to hear, more to learn. Eager whispers that filled the hallways, between each passing person, passed between lips and ears and behind hands.

When Tony walked through the door of the repair bay, Steve right on his heels, almost every member of his crew was waiting for him. Tony's steps faltered, but only for a second. “What the hell?” he called out, and his voice didn't shake, not at all, he made sure of that. “You people have work to do, we're in lockdown. Hasn't anyone told you, there's a Kaiju heading straight for us, and I don't think it's just stopping by for a cup of coffee?”

“I wanna stand up, I wanna let go!”

The voice was clear and bright and a little pitchy, but the words were familiar. Tony looked up. “Shouldn't you be in a bunker somewhere?” he called up. Anya smiled down at him, her arm still in a sling, but she was in her Spider coveralls, she was up with the others, with Jessica, who had a hand on her head, and with Miles, who was leaning half over the railing, and Peter, with his hard hat in place, sitting on top of the railing.

“You know, you know, no, you don't, you don't.” The Spiders were singing together now, all those voices, and feet were pounding, quietly, around the bay. Heels rattling against the metal, tools ricocheting off of the railings and the walkways, the stairs and the walls an the rails of ladders, one after another, a cacophony rising from the crowd.

“I wanna shine on, in the hearts of men! I wanna feel it from the back of my broken hand!”

Tony stilled, his feet coming to a stumbling halt. For an instant, he just stood there and let the song wash over him, so many voices combining, so many familiar faces raised towards him. For an instant, he let his eyes close, feeling the words rattle down to his bones.

“Another head aches, another heart breaks.”

Tony's mouth formed the words along with them. “I'm so much older than I can take.” He glanced over his shoulder, to where Steve was there, right next to him, waiting with him, his eyes calm. Tony was laughing, under his breath, as he mouthed the words, “And my affection, well, it comes and goes.”

He turned back to the path he was determined to walk, moving forward, and it hurt, an ache down in his bones. Hands patted his back, his shoulders, as he passed, simple touches, from all directions, connections that he couldn't break now.

“I need direction to perfection, no, no, no, no!” Tony sang, and then Thor was right in front of him. Thor, grinning, big and broad and with his arms held wide. He enveloped Tony, lifting him right off of his feet, and spinning him halfway around. 

Steve accepted a hug of his own, and the song was almost a howl now, loud and vibrant and alive. “And when there's nowhere else to run, is there room for one more son!”

Under the cover of the song, Thor leaned in, his forehead brushing against Tony's for a moment. “Take care, and fight well,” he said. “And return to us whole and unharmed.”

Tony laughed. “I'll see what I can do. Can you please get these people back to their damn jobs?”

“We heard there was a war on, sir,” Jennifer said, a crowbar over her shoulder. “We say, bring it on.” The massive piece of metal bounced lightly against the ball of her shoulder, her bicep flexing with each movement. “We've got your back.”

Tony pointed a finger at her. “That is far hotter than it should be.”

“Damn straight,” she said, blowing him a kiss. Her eyes were bright. “God speed, boss.”

“Take care of my babies,” Tony said. Thor dragged him in for one last hug, and Tony whapped him on the back a few times. 

When Thor finally let him go, he found himself face to face with Pepper. She was still and quiet, not singing along with the others, and her eyes were red. She hugged her files to her chest. “I told you,” she said, with a faint smile. “If you push me too far, I will tell Steve.”

“Yeah, that was pretty lousy of you,” Tony told her. She shrugged. “Thanks, Pep.”

“Steve?” Pepper blinked, and a tear carved its way down the creamy curve of her cheek. She ignored it. “He's our favorite son. Do you understand me?”

Steve accepted her hug, his own arms gentle and careful of the plates of his armor where they might pinch. “Yes, ma'am.”

“I can take care of myself, Pep,” Tony said, and she gave him a look. 

“No. You can't.” But she went on her toes, her body a smooth arch, her fingers cupping his jaw, to kiss his lips. The contact was so delicate, so fleeting, that it seemed a benediction, a prayer of breath and flesh. When she took a step back, her fingers slid down the length of his chestplate, resting for a second on the center of his breastbone. “You come home. Do you understand me? You come home.”

He nodded, and before he could say anything else, Hill's voice came over the Shatterdome PA. “Iron Commander pilot team, report to your launch pod.”

The bay went silent, the song dying away, the chatter of words and phrases giving way to silence. And then, Thor brought his hammer up, and with a deliberate swing, sent it crashing into the deck. The sound of metal on metal rang through the bay, reverberating like a bell. He raised it again, and this time when it came down, others joined in, tools and feet and fists bouncing off the floor and the walls until the Shatterdome itself seemed to shake with the force of it.

He could feel it in his bones.

He took a deep breath, and gave the room a nod, and then he was moving, not alone, not ever alone, because Steve was there, at his side, and the heart of the Shatterdome was pounding around him. 

“Get back to work!” he yelled, and then he was gone, down the dark corridor to their comm-pod, carrying that heartbeat with him.

*

“This is the worst idea we've ever had.”

“Collectively? Maybe,” Steve mused, even as he settled into the right hand seat of the Comm-pod. It was terrifying, but it felt natural, it felt right. Even after all this time, even after the nightmares and the pain, sinking into the cradle of the seat. He didn't like it, on some level, he hated it, but it was a weapon he could use. 

If he had to fight, he would fight fully armed.

Tony settled into his seat, into the seat that previously had been Steve's. Steve preferred that, preferred that if a spot was cursed, if ghosts still lingered here, then they were his to bear. He took a breath, letting his body relax into place, letting the memories of Bucky, all of his memories of Bucky sweep over him, 

He expected grief, or sorrow, or rage, but all the memories brought him was a soft, gentle sensation of loss. He could almost hear Bucky grousing at him, in the back of his head, “And it's about time, Rogers, get over yourself.” His smile was tinged with sadness, but it was a real smile, because this didn't hurt. Not the way he'd thought it would.

“Okay?” Tony asked in an undertone, low and careful, and Steve looked at him. Met those remarkable brown eyes, lit for the first time by the systems he'd designed from the ground up. Surrounded, enveloped, by the very things that he had made, that he had made better.

And Steve smiled at him. “How could I not be?” he asked, going through the prep sequence by rote, because he knew every step, every task. “You're here.”

Tony was doing his own work, and he arched an eyebrow. “Yeah...” he said, sounding amused.

“No, I mean-” Steve waved a hand around the Comm-pod. “You're HERE. All around me. You've always been here, even when you weren't here.”

Tony stilled, his face unreadable behind the shield of his helmet. But it was a momentary pause, a flicker of lashes and a stillness to his hands. “Yeah,” he agreed at last. His chest expanded with a breath, the plates of his flight suit expanding with it. “I guess I have.”

“All clear, all clear, prep for neural handshake,” Coulson's clear, calm voice said, cutting through the comm-pod. “Status report.”

“Right seat, go,” Steve said, settling back. His eyes flicked in Tony's direction, one more time, trying to clear his mind. 

“Left seat, go,” Tony said, and his eyes shut behind the faceplate of his helmet. “If this doesn't work, Steve? I'm glad it's you.”

Steve smiled. “Stay in the drift. The drift is silence. Do not-”

“I know, I know.” Tony's teeth flashed in a grin. “Watch the quicksand, don't chase the rabbit. I know the drill, Cap.”

“Stay with me,” Steve said, and it was an order, brooking no argument. “I need you.”

“Neural handshake in five, four, three, two, one, initiating neural handshake.”

Steve let his eyes fall shut and took a long, slow breath and the drift hit him sideways, horrible and beautiful and the waking dream that he had yearned for and dreaded in equal parts. But it was there and in an instant, he was lost to himself in a flood of memories.

He was laughing as he watched a kite twist in the air, red and yellow with a twirl of a tail trailing in its wake. Hands were gentle on his shoulders, coaxing his arms up, steering the string up into the wind. The wind was warm on his face, sun bleeding through the gleaming fabric, the cloudless sky not seeming to have a horizon.

Everything hurt. He was limping, he was dragging himself forward, trying not to cry and crying anyway, the sting of tears on his scraped cheek. He clung to the remains of his pride, but everything hurt, everything, and all he wanted to do was find a dark corner to huddle in and cry, cry loud and in that embarrassing way that his father despised. 

The broth was sweet and spicy in his mouth, salty and thick, and he let it linger on his tongue, savoring the heat and the taste, breathing in the steam. He dragged his spoon through the red soup, letting the thin trail of cream curl in the wake of his spoon, watching it bleed into the acidic bite of the bisque. He wrapped one arm around the bowl, huddling into it, wanted to absorb the heat through the touch alone.

Her lips tasted good, and he wasn't sure why, but it probably had something to do with the way she smelled like cherries when he got in close, her slick and shiny lips a powerful temptation that he didn't really want to resist. She smiled against his mouth, he felt that, and the sensation of having done something right, of having passed some test, shot through him with a shock like arousal or pleasure or the headiest alcohol.

The smell of scotch hovered in the air and it was long gone, even the bottles had been swept away, but it was always going to smell of scotch on some level, burned into the frontal cortex of his brain, the smell indelibly linked with his father, with the husky, sharp sound of his father's voice and the way it mixed with the click of ice on crystal. He could stand here, inside an empty room and close his eyes and smell scotch and soda and fool himself into thinking his father was still alive.

Fingers burning with Kaiju Blue. Fingers scraped raw as they peeled back sheets of metal the size of one of the massive mess hall tables. Fingers sliding over bare, sleep warmed skin. Fingers stained black with oil, leaving smears of fingerprints like wounds in their wake. Fingers raw and red with cold wind and ice. Fingers that danced in the air, trails of light like ghosts in their wake.

He was crashing down the hall, his heart pounding in his chest like a jackhammer. He couldn't hear, couldn't think, panic was a living thing in the pit of his stomach, driving him forward. He ran, faster than he had ever run, and people tried to stop him, tried to hold him down or hold him back and it was as if they didn't even exist. He shrugged off the hands, pushing himself forward, and his breath was raw in his ears. He hadn't prayed, he hadn't prayed since before his mother disappeared into the raw pit that was San Francisco, but he prayed now.

Desperate, he flung himself forward, and he was passed them and into the medical bay. 

Steve was alive. That was all that mattered. That was all he cared about. Steve was alive. Steve was there, in front of him, battered and bruised and stained with blood, one eye swollen shut already and the side of his face mottled with bruises and scrapes. His pale hair was clumped with dried patches of red-black blood and his head was rolling around on the pillow, a thin, strained sound bleeding out of his parted lips.

Steve was strapped down to the bed, and he didn't understand that, but he didn't care. “Steve?” His voice broke on the word, and he struggled to swallow, struggled to sound normal, to not make this worse, to not make this loss and tragedy worse by his mere presence. His hands moved almost against his will, his fingers touching Steve's unmarked cheek, desperate for the contact, to feel the warmth of Steve's skin.

“Steve, oh, God, Steve,” and he was grinning even as his eyes stung with tears. “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.”

Steve shuddered with a breath, thick and heavy. His head rolled away. The words were so soft that for a moment, he couldn't understand them. Or perhaps he didn't want to. He leaned in, and Steve made a horrible sound. “You killed him.”

He rocked back, the words hitting him like a blow to the chest, and his heart seized. “No, I- I'm sorry, I-”

Steve's head came up, and his face was twisted, the expression so foreign on his face that he looked alien, like there was nothing left of him at all. He was breathing hard and fast and his eyes were wild. “It's your fault,” he choked out. He jerked forward, his body pulling hard against the straps that held him down. “It's your fault! IT'S YOUR FAULT!”

“Steve, I-”

“YOU KILLED HIM!”

Hands were on him, hands were pulling him back, shoving him back, and he was out of the room, and the world was swimming around him, the room tilting on its axis. Hands cupped his face, forcing it up, and they were small and soft and strong, and Jane Foster was staring into his eyes. “He doesn't know what he's saying. Listen to me! He's been saying crazy things since I pulled him out. He doesn't mean it, he's not in his right mind.” 

She was shaking him, and it didn't matter, it didn't matter, nothing mattered, his fragile heart had already shattered in his chest, fallen to dust, and he didn't know why he was still breathing.

“Tony! He doesn't know what he's saying! Do you understand me? Listen to me!”

His head came up, agony tearing through him, his vision white at the edges, and it took him forever to understand what the figure in the red and gold flight suit was doing there, in the dull gray expanse of the hall, still and quiet. When it spoke, it was Tony's voice.

“Don't chase the rabbit, Steve.”

Steve snapped back into himself with a force that shook him down to the bone. He could hear the words now, loud in his ears, loud in his helmet, and he heard Coulson's crisp, controlled voice saying, “Rogers, you are out of alignment.”

“I'm fine, give me a second,” Steve gritted out, but the memory was visceral, shame and horror a toxic mix in his stomach. He struggled against the impulse to throw up, to get rid of the emotion, the memory, like it was an actual poison.

“Don't chase the rabbit, Steve,” Tony repeated, and his voice was surprisingly gentle.

Steve struggled to breathe, not understanding, not wanting to understand. “Was that-” He knew better than to ask. There was no point in asking, Tony's memory still fresh in his mind, clawing at him and he wanted to howl. Everything had changed after Bucky had died. Everything had changed, Tony had retreated from him, his smiles fake on some level, his eyes cool and guarded. On the surface, they were still the best of friends, still so close, but Steve had felt it, the way Tony had withdrawn, had guarded himself, had kept Steve at a distance. He hadn't understood it, but he'd known the fracture was there, between them.

And it was his fault.

“Not now,” Tony said, and there was the faintest hint of strain to the words. “We have bigger problems right now.”

Steve pulled himself together, pulled his heart together, refocusing his mind. The drift was solid now, clean and pure and so familiar. There was no distance here, no fear, no anger, but Tony, and it was enough. For now. “Yes. We do.” He sucked in a breath. “But when this is over, we're going to talk about this.”

“Well, that's something else to look forward to,” Tony said, his voice sardonic.

“We have full pilot integration,” Coulson said, interrupting Steve's train of thought. “Stand by for calibration.”

“Standing by.” Steve flicked his fingers across the displays. “Ready?” he said, and he could feel Tony, feel his agreement before the nod even started to dip his chin down. The drift was in full effect now, and it was familiar and foreign all at once. Bucky's presence in the drift had been self-assured and forceful, focused and intent on the goal. Tony wasn't the soldier Bucky had been, there was no focus in his presence, it was just a brilliant, fierce spark that illuminated everything, that threw everything around him into relief. He exposed, he burned, he was everywhere at once.

And Steve just sank into the heat of the contact, into the flame that burned away the darkness, that stripped away all the shadows, a wild fire that burned and consumed and he didn't care. He wanted to laugh, and he wanted to cry, all the memories pulsing through him, and he wanted to cling, to steal. Instead, he took a breath, and let it all wash over him.

Tried not to drown.

“Right hemisphere, calibrate,” Steve said, and he felt his own body move, felt the flex of joints and bones and muscle. And right along, he felt Tony, moving with him.

“Left hemisphere, calibrate,” Tony said, and they repeated the flex and push of joints and metal, the gigantic body of the Jaeger moving with them.

“We have full calibration,” Coulson said, and there was approval there, in that warm voice. “Prepare for transport. Good luck, gentlemen, and we will be waiting for your safe return.”

Steve's head fell back. “We won't keep you waiting.” He flicked the switch, cutting the contact with LOCCENT. “Ready, Tony?”

“You have no idea.”

*

The drift was amazing.

Tony's body was moving, in perfect alignment, in perfect balance, he could swear that he could feel Steve's muscles flexing along with his, but he knew that was an illusion. The drift wasn't like that.

But the sensation of being one mind in two bodies was so overwhelmingly perfect, he couldn't quite convince himself that it wasn't real. Probably because he didn't want to.

There were fragments still, bits of memory and flashes of sensation, as natural as his own thoughts, and he let them slip through his mind. He had a job to do, he had the moment, this one moment to treasure, and he understood. For the first time, he understood why Steve had been so destroyed, in the wake of Bucky's death, why he had fixated on the concept of being alone.

Tony hadn't understood what being alone was, until he'd entered the drift. And now that he was in it, he could feel Steve, through the memories and the random flickers of thoughts, the startling wash of emotion, he could feel Steve, steady and controlled, cool and intelligent. And he could feel the flickers of something like anxiety through the connection. 

Tony shook his head. "It's killing you, isn't it?"

"What?" 

Tony glanced over at him, grinning. "That you can't reach over here and check my pulse."

That won him a smile, a little one, but a smile, and he felt the wash of affection through the drift, something comforting and warm, like the remembered taste of alcohol, heady and dizzying. "Stop talking," Steve said, his lips still twitching. "You're wasting breath."

"You didn't seriously think that this would shut me up, did you?" Tony's eyes darted over the displays, marking the changes, the systems output, the ebb and flow of the information. They weren't going to make it that far before they were going to be facing the Kaiju. It was moving in fast, hard and fast, and they'd be lucky to get out of range of the shore before they took it on. Which was both a blessing and a curse.

"War Marvel is on notice," Coulson said, over the comms. “They're confirming death of their current target, but should be en route within fifteen minutes. Hold the miracle mile, but do not engage if possible.”

Tony snorted under his breath. “I don't think that's going to be a possibility,” he said, his voice pitched low. “That thing is coming in fast.”

Steve studied the readouts. “I think you're right.”

“Don't sound so surprised, Cap.” He smiled. “And I know what you're thinking.”

“The drift doesn't work that way,” Steve said.

“I don't need the drift to know that you don't want me doing any more heavy lifting than we have to,” Tony said. He wasn't going to lie. Moving the Jaeger, an activity that should've been impossible, was downgraded to merely extremely difficult by the mechanics that formed their controls. But even so, he was already feeling the strain.

“No,” Steve agreed. “I don't.”

Tony glanced at him. “We go out to meet this thing, we can control the battle,” he said, and it was logic, it was sound, and he could feel Steve, weighing the odds, running the calculations. He was one of the finest tactical minds of their generation, and he was careful. So carefu.. “We let it come to us, we're going to be fighting to hold ground.”

Steve's jaw locked, muscles jerking beneath the skin. “I never blamed you.”

Tony stared at the displays. “You did. Once.” His eyes closed. “Do we fight? Or wait to die on our own doorstep?”

Steve's fingers locked, and Tony didn't know how he knew that, but he did. “We fight.” He reached up, fingers dancing over the switches. “We take it slow, do not push yourself too hard, do you understand me?”

“Not the boss of me,” Tony said, trying for humor, but he followed the pace that Steve set. It was remarkably comfortable, and he wondered if Steve 

“Be aware, Iron Commander, you have hostile coming up fast.” Coulson was calm and controlled, but the strain was audible in his voice. It's the fastest cat four we've ever seen, and the readings indicate an exceptionally long reach and 

“Understood, LOCCENT.”

Tony watched the displays, taking in the information even as they moved forward, their progress steady. The flickering point of light that designated their target grew bigger and bigger and Tony took a breath. “Brace,” Steve said, before he could.

The thing roared out of the ocean, a wall of water proceeding it, and in the wake of the water, in the wake of the chaos and the force and the pressure, there was the Kaiju. It was a mountain, a volcano, it crashed upwards, and towards them, its mouth opened wide, massive teeth gleaming in the reflection of the blue. 

It roared, a nightmare of blank emptiness where the sky ought to be, and Steve never even blinked, never flinched, he just swung. The Jaeger's fist smashed into the thing's jaw, metal meeting teeth and bone and the poison of flesh and blood. Tony felt it shudder through his own frame, his actions mimicking Steve's without conscious effort, without thought. He knew the swing was coming before Steve even started moving, and it was the most natural thing in the world to swing in tandem with him.

He was laughing, he heard it echoing in his ears, in the commline, but he was laughing as they blocked the Kaiju's lunge, sidestepping the flick of a tail and snagging a limb below the flex of a joint. “Don't get cocky,” Steve said, but there was humor in his voice.

“Too late,” Tony said, and they were moving so smoothly that he barely felt the effort of it. He could feel his heart beating, hard and fast in his ears, his pulse thudding as they moved, and he wondered, on some level, if he should be afraid. If he would feel the end before it came.

The Kaiju went down, and it rolled, its tail shooting free of the surface of the water, vicious barbs scraping along the side of the Jaeger's plating, and the impact rocked them in their seats. “Hey,” Tony gritted out as the Jaeger's right foot came up, crashing down on the tail, forcing it down and out of commission. “Watch the paint job, you-”

“Watch it!”

There was no time to brace, no time to adapt, the clawed hand just raked across the front of the Jaeger, slicing through the plating with an ease that stole the breath from Tony's lungs. They surged forward, the Jaeger pushing back against the pressure of claws and slicing fingers. The jaw opened wide, and the teeth sank into the right shoulder, locking on.

Steve hissed out a curse and swung, hard and fast, and metal slammed into the unyielding pressure of flesh, knocking the Kaiju back a step, and buying them enough room to land a blow, and then another, driving a howl of pain from the Kaiju. Its arms came up, and both hand came down, claws digging in, dragging the Jaeger forward.

“No,” Steve said, and it was too late, Tony was already shifting them both forward, the Jaeger's massive leg catching the Kaiju behind its knee joint, and with a shift of their weight, they sent the Kaiju crashing back to the water's surface. 

“Told you that move would work eventually,” Tony said, gleeful as the Jaeger's weight shifted, a massive fist propelled down to meet the Kaiju's upwards movement, driving it back down.

The tail sliced through the waves, coming up with the speed of a snake striking, driving hard into the Jaeger's hip joint and Tony bit back a scream as the feedback poured through his body. There was sweat in his eyes now, stinging and burning, and the throb of alarms drowned out any other sound. But beneath it all, beneath the sounds and the sights and whatever his senses fed him, there was Steve, steady and strong.

“Take the shot,” Tony said, and Steve was already bringing up the plasma canon, pressing it in under the Kaiju's arm, where the flesh was thin. The shot slammed through both of them, rocking them in their cradle of their seats, and the Kaiju howled. Steve emptied the clip, shot after shot, but the Kaiju shook them off, the skin scorched and oozing, but intact.

Steve swore. The Jaeger's left arm slashed up, catching the Kaiju under its chin, knocking it back. “Can we hold this?” he asked.

Steve's head was already shaking. “Punching isn't going to do the trick here,” he said, and he was winded, he was already driving the Kaiju back, hit after hit, swing after swing, a brutal barrage of blows, landing two with the right hand for every one from the left. “There's-”

“Bony plates,” Tony filled in. “Beneath the flesh. We're not making a dent.”

“No. We're not.”

The claws raked down again, scraping along the side of the comm-pod. Steve knocked it away, and the sea boiled around their feet. Tony took a breath, and it hurt, he wasn't sure why. But it hurt, and he glanced at Steve. “Can you hold it?”

Steve didn't even bother saying yes. He just brought his arms up, and with a grimace, locked an arm around the Kaiju's neck, wrenching it back. The Kaiju clawed at the right arm, shrieking, and Tony reached for the controls.

“Please hold,” he breathed out. “Please hold, please hold.” He flicked the button, and snapped, “Let it go!”

Steve shoved the Kaiju forward, the Jaeger rocked back, stumbling. The controls were sparking now, the claws damaging the circuitry as the ripped free. “What are you-” Steve said, and Tony punched it.

The Kaiju shook off the latest attack and turned, lunging forward. Steve brought the Jaeger's right arm came up, and for a terrifying moment, Tony didn't think it was going to work. And then, the energy projection snapped into place, a bare second before the Kaiju would've sank its teeth into the arm. Instinctively, Steve swung, and the dome of white and red light crashed into the Kaiju's face, knocking the beast back. 

Steve's mouth gaped open as the Jaeger's arm came up, and he stared at the gleaming energy shield. “Tony, what-”

Tony was laughing, despite his lack of breath, despite the pain that was now arcing through him, he was laughing. “I told Thor it would work.”

Steve swung, hard, and the shield was as solid as one made of metal, lifting the Kaiju off of its feet and sending it smashing back into the water. Steve was moving fast now, the shield a blade in his hands, swinging and slashing. The Kaiju fought back with growing ferocity, death throes catching hold of its system.

Tony lost track of the battle somewhere, lost in the physical strain, lost in the force of the blows, and he could hear words, Coulson's or Steve's or maybe Fury's, but he could hear words. They meant nothing, only was the fierce burn of the fight, muscles in agony as they attacked.

War Marvel came down on the Kaiju's back so hard that it carved away the water, and for an instant, they were all exposed, bare to the sky. And then the shield was buried in the Kaiju's throat, a single death blow that cut off its howl.

“Tony?”

Tony heard the name, but there was nothing left in him to answer, the pain radiating through his chest now, too sharp to deny, too ignore. The Jaeger was still moving, his legs rising and falling and he didn't know if he was doing it, if he was powering the machine, or if the machine was carrying him along. But Steve was still there, steady and strong and Steve would get them home. Tony knew that, even as they moved forward, and his unsteady gaze mapped their progress on the heads up displays. Watched as Iron Commander cleared the distance at speeds that he wouldn't have thought possible.

He had built this damn thing, he'd built it for Steve, around Steve, and he hadn't known just what Steve was capable of. He'd failed, even in that. 

“Hold on, Tony. Hold on, just a little-”

He was laughing, somehow, he was laughing as the damn thing thudded back into its bay, too hard, too clumsy, but they'd brought her home, they'd made it home, and Tony couldn't breathe, and he didn't care. He fumbled at the helmet, but his hands were limp, his fingers numb, and he couldn't get a grip.

He might have blacked out, or he might have just stared into the darkness behind the plate of his helmet until the lights flared, whiting out everything in his head.

There were sirens wailing, ringing in his ears, and he felt the pain spiraling through him, through his arm, through his chest, and he couldn't breathe, but it was okay. It was fine, he'd made it home. He'd made it home and he'd brought Steve with him, Steve was back, Steve was safe, they'd dropped the Kaiju and they'd brought the damn Jaeger home.

Tony would've laughed, if he'd had the breath.

The comm-pod was cracked open, he heard things, he saw things, he couldn't get his helmet off, he couldn't get a grip, his fingers tingling, his vision fracturing into white. 

Hands were there, pulling at him, and he struggled to concentrate through the pain, through the way his lungs seized, and faces passed in front of his eyes, and he couldn't tell if it was the drift or here and now. They blurred together, and Tony reached out for Steve, for the calm, centered core of Steve's mind. 

But he couldn't get a grip on Steve's consciousness. The drift was awash in white and red.

There was shouting, so much shouting, and Tony tried to breathe. Tried to force his eyes open. The medical staff was everywhere, ghosts mixed with the people who were talking, yelling, even as they pulled Steve free from his cradle. Steve was still, his body going limp as it fell forward, into hands that were outstretched to take his weight. Hands pried Steve's helmet free, and his head lolled to the side, his face bone white, a thick trail of blood creeping from his nose down to his chin.

He was seizing.

“Steve?” Tony heard his own voice from a distance, faint and thin and so far distant that he could barely hear it. The pain was agonizing, and he struggled to breathe. “Steve?”

Jane's face, hovering over him, her eyes bright and sharp, and then she was forcing an oxygen mask over his mouth, pinning him down, pressing him back against the cradle. Ignoring his struggles, she held him down, her eyes huge and her face pale, swimming in his vision, her lips thin.

The pain swamped him like a wave. As he went under, darkness closing over his head, he heard someone say, “Get McCoy! He's in cardiac arrest. Goddammit, we're going to lose them both!”

Tony clung to the last fragments of Steve's consciousness until it was ripped away from him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song referenced by the work crews is, once again, the Killers' "All These Things That I've Done."


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, long windedness is my problem. There will be one more chapter after this, and will hopefully be up within a week. Sorry about that, guys!
> 
> Trigger warnings for canon appropriate violence, survivor guilt and mental trauma.

The soft, steady beep of some monitor badgered him awake. He wasn't happy about it. Mostly because he wasn't aware that the act of blinking could hurt.

It hurt to breathe. It hurt a lot. But that, he was used to. 

“Welcome back to the land of the living, Mr. Stark. Enjoy your stay, but watch out for the wildlife. I hear it would very much like to eat you.”

Tony pried his eyes open, slowly, gritting his teeth against the agony that exploded in his skull as the light flooded in. For a moment, he thought he was going to throw up, but he managed to keep his stomach where it belonged. That was probably for the best, because there was something down his throat.

Dr. Hank McCoy leaned forward, blocking out Tony's vision. “Both Kaiju were defeated before they could make landfall, all pilots made it back to shore. No deaths.” He smiled. “You did it.” He turned away to make some adjustments to one of the monitors, and the beeping went quiet. “And now that you're back with me, let's get this out, shall we?”

The process of removing the tube from his throat was unpleasant, and Tony barely waited for it to be clear of his mouth before he choked out, “Steve?”

“Battered, but very much alive,” McCoy said, bringing a straw to Tony's mouth. “Drink.”

Tony took a sip, then tried again. “Where-”

“Not here. You're not allowed visitors. Drink.” McCoy forced the straw back between his lips. “Due to the extensive surgery we had to do on you, and the fact that we had to compromise your immune system to keep you from rejecting it, you've been in quarantine. Not to worry, you're still quite popular, but we've limited contact, for your own safety.”

Tony nodded, just a little, his hand fumbling up his chest. Hank caught it and pulled it away.

“Your utterly mad plan worked,” he said, and he sounded annoyed by that. “I had to carve out a chunk of your breastbone, and there will be quite the recovery curve, but you survived the installation. I use installation deliberately, this was not a medical treatment, this was you attempting to mechanize your system, and I disapprove. Just so we're aware.”

“It's a pacemaker,” Tony said, grinning. It hurt, it felt like his lips were splitting, but it was worth it for the way that Hank glared at him, his broad mouth pursed tight.

“It's a miniaturized arc reactor,” Hank said, shaking his head. “That you have adapted to serve as a pacemaker. Of sorts.”

“It worked.” Tony let his eyes close and struggled to breath deeply. It hurt, and it was all he could do not to claw at his chest. Instead, he clung to the sheets beneath his fingers, using that as an anchor. “I knew it would.”

“Yes, yes, I've heard this before. Several times, actually.” From the pocket of his lab coat, McCoy pulled out a slim set of wire framed glasses and put them on. They immediately slipped down to rest almost at the very end of his broad nose, and he pushed them back. “I had thought that there was no way that you could force my hand, no way that you could force me to do such an invasive surgery on you, since the chances of killing you were-”

“I didn't die,” Tony pointed out.

McCoy ignored him. “Actually quite high. I had resigned myself to dealing with your wheedling for the remainder of my days.” He set a pen against Tony's chart, making a sequence of notations. “In that you lacked the ability to install the monstrosity yourself and there is no way you'd be able to convince Bruce to do it, I had determined that we would be dancing to that tired tune for the remainder of your life.”

He removed his glasses with a flick of his wrist. “I had not anticipated that you would go so far as to drive yourself into a heart attack.”

Tony managed a wan grin. “Maybe you should have.”

Hank released a snort. “Perhaps I should have.” He folded his arms, the square frames of his glasses bouncing against his bicep. “In that you are utterly shameless.”

Tony held up a shaking hand and managed a thumbs up.

Shaking his head, McCoy stood and strode over to the machines that were still attached to Tony. “You do realize that you should rest while you can.” He gave Tony a look. “When you are a bit recovered, there is the piper to pay.”

Tony's eyes squeezed shut. “You talked to Pepper.”

"And Thor, and Marshall Fury, and Bruce. It's astonishing," McCoy deadpanned, returning to his chair. "It's almost as if we had nearly a week of uninterrupted time to compare notes." His eyebrows arched. "And figure out what you'd told, and what you had been keeping secret from, each one of us."

Tony huffed out a sigh. "So I'm fucked."

"Quite properly fucked, yes." McCoy's lips twitched. "I knew of the pacemaker, Thor know of the power source, and Pepper knew-"

"About the suit," Tony filled in, resigned. His head was throbbing already, and he wasn't sure if it was the pending screaming fit he was going to have to endure, or if it was his current injuries that caused it. He supposed it didn't really matter.

"Yes. Although, she was not aware that you intended to implant the power source within your own chest," McCoy said, rolling his pen between his fingers. He had large hands, large and bulky, with thick fingers. Tony was always surprised by the delicacy that he managed, given the size and structure of his hands. But despite his hands, or maybe because of them, he was a surgeon of unparalleled brilliance. "She was less than pleased with the concept."

"Yeah, well, that's why I didn't tell her," Tony pointed out. 

"A wise decision, as it turns out." McCoy reached in his pocket, pulling out a penlight. He flicked it between Tony's eyes, making him flinch. "I was less than pleased with the execution of your plans as well, just so you are aware."

"It worked," Tony grumbled, and everything hurt, but he'd expected that. He'd known that would happen. At least he was alive, that was all he could hope for, really. He was alive.

It had worked.

McCoy leaned over him, his face tight. "Barely," he said, his rumbling voice raw at the edges. "It was a very near thing, Tony, and you very nearly did not wake up at all." He settled back in his chair, huffing out a sigh. "You are far too rash." 

"Fortune favors the brave, right?" He struggled, for a second, to breathe through the pain.

A broad palm settled on his forehead, pushing his damp hair away from his skin. "Fortune," McCoy said, his voice gentle, "favors the living. Let's keep that in mind as well, shall we?"

Tony chuckled. "Yeah, yeah." He heard McCoy move, and forced his eyes open. "Don't- Need anything. Don't give me-"

"I"m sorry, it's clear that your pain is interfering with your judgement." McCoy removed the syringe from the IV drip port. "And your body needs rest."

Tony sucked in a breath, and another, and his ribcage flexed with it, sending fresh spikes of agony through his frame. "Can I see him?"

McCoy paused, his eyes focused down on the chart in his hands. "Not yet," he said, and he smiled at Tony, but the smile and the look in his eyes were bland and empty.

A spike of panic rolled through Tony, but the drugs were already tugging hard at his consciousness. "What-" He swallowed, and the world swayed around him. "What aren't you telling me?"

If there was an answer, he didn't hear it. The darkness swept through him and he went down.

*

“Welcome back, Sleeping Beauty.”

Tony flinched. “Oh, God,” he mumbled, and his mouth tasted like something had died in it. His head felt like it was stuffed with cotton wool, and breathing hurt. But the taste in his mouth over rode everything else, including the way his head was pounding. “What-”

“Tough night, huh?”

Tony pried an eye open. “Screw you, Rhodes,” he managed, and they weren't alone. Right behind Rhodey's shoulder, he caught sight of Pepper's pale face, her lower lip caught in her perfect white teeth. On the other side of the bed, Bruce was seated, dark circles under his eyes and a faint smile on his lips.

“I guess you're feeling better,” Bruce said, and Tony tried to smile back. “What do you remember, Tony?” 

Tony opened his mouth, about to ask what he meant, when it all came flooding back to him. The Kaiju, the fight, the drift, McCoy's attempts to explain. It took him only a glance to realize that of the faces around his bed, someone was missing.

Rhodey caught his shoulder before he could struggle up. Tony tried to knock his hand away, but there was no strength in the blow; Rhodey held on easily. "He's alive," Rhodey said, and then, when Tony just stared at him, heart pounding too fast beneath his ribs, he repeated it. "Steve is alive, Tony. Okay? Do you understand me?"

"Alive. Why alive, why alive and not fine, why isn't he-" Tony shoved hard against Rhodey's hand, panic clawing at his throat, and then Bruce was there on his other side, wrestling him back down. Bruce didn't look it, but he hid some serious strength behind the calm facade and the battered labcoat, and Tony subsided back against the pillows.

"He is alive," Bruce said, his voice strained. "He's not fine." His eyes darted towards the monitors. "And you need to calm down."

"That's-"

Bruce leaned over him. "You need," he said, each word quiet and careful, "to calm down. Right now. I need you to take a slow, deep breath, because if you work yourself up into a place where the strain is too much for your already overtaxed system, I will sedate you again."

Tony glared at him, but he sucked in a breath from between clenched teeth, and then another. "What's wrong?" he managed, trying to regulate his system. "Where is he? What's wrong with him?"

Bruce sat down again, his breath going out of him in a rush. "He's in a coma, Tony. His readings are normal. No problems with respiration, or brain activity. There was some subdural swelling, but nothing out of the ordinary for a Jaeger pilot that's been out of the command seat for a while. It happens. It's already gone down, and there was no lasting damage." He gave Tony a reassuring smile. “Physically, he is fine.”

Tony stared at him, not trusting, not believing. There was a hitch in his breath, and his ribs were in agony with each inhale, each exhale. He ignored it. "He was seizing, I remember, there was-" He swallowed, and Pepper moved to pour him a glass of water. "He was seizing."

"It was a series of minor seizures. He's experienced them before." Bruce leaned forward, speaking quietly. "A lot of pilots have. Considering how long it's been since he's been in a Comm-pod, it was the best we could've hoped for. He didn't stroke out, he didn't ever stop breathing. There is no brain damage."

"He just won't wake up," Pepper said, her voice gentle. She leaned in, her hand slipping around the back of Tony's neck, helping him pull away from the pillows, at least far enough to drink comfortably. She slipped the straw into his mouth. "And you won't do him any favors by working yourself up into another heart attack." Her voice was tart, but her eyes were red, and the combination of worry and frustration was familiar and comforting. “Drink.”

He drank, out of necessity more than desire, but the liquid washed over his tongue, and he was grateful for it. Rhodey's hand was still on his shoulder, supporting him now rather than restraining him, and Tony fumbled to make a grab for his wrist. When Pepper pulled the straw away, he sucked in a breath, and another. "I want to see him."

The three of them exchanged a look over his head and he resisted the urge to curse them all out. Or take a swing that stood no chance of connecting with anyone or anything.

“Here's what we're going to do,” Pepper said, her voice crisp. She reached for the pitcher, and she refilled the glass. “You are going to sit here, quietly. You're going to drink another glass of water. And you're going to listen to us. Bruce will go over your vitals. And then, when you're calm-”

“I am calm,” Tony started, and Pepper pinned him in place with a glare. 

“I will make that call,” Pepper said. “And when I think you're calm, then you will get into a wheelchair, and we will bring you to see Steve.” She leaned over the bed. “Understood?”

Tony found himself smiling. “Understood,” he said, with a little huff of a laugh at the end of the word. “Miss Potts.”

“I don't think,” Bruce started, and Pepper turned a basilisk stare in his direction.

“Just give up,” Rhodey told him, his lips twitching. “You're not going to win.” He took a seat next to the bed, putting one foot up on the frame. “So. You've been out for a few days. You woke up a few minutes a couple of times, but this is the first time you've been back. Fully back, that is.”

Tony took the glass from Pepper, holding it between hands that shook. “Yeah. The, uh, the-” He looked down, and he could see the faint glow of the reactor through the hospital gown. “It's going according to plan?”

Pepper made a rude noise under her breath, and Bruce hid a smile. “Your plan, maybe,” he said. “Yes. Your body hasn't rejected it, and you're healing nicely. It'll be a while before you're back to one hundred percent, but once you are, that should keep your heart beating.”

“Fury is making noises about having you court-martialed,” Rhodey said. “Or just tossed off the nearest cliff, but he's been by daily to check on you, so it's probably bluster.” He paused. “Probably.”

“I wouldn't count on it,” Pepper said, her voice tart. “Phil's already got the paperwork together for either course of action.” But she was smiling a little as she pushed Tony's hair away from his face. “And he said that simply tossing you off the cliff would probably be simpler.”

“It's not my fault he's lazy and probably bad at his job,” Tony said, holding onto the cup between his palms. He got it to his mouth without spilling anything down his front. That was a plus.

Rhodey hid a smile behind one hand. “Uh-huh. Well, anyway, Carter's left and come back three times by now, we're not sure why she's still hanging around these parts. She and Fury are still having their closed door chats, but other than that, she's been helping the repair crews. Whatever she's planning, she doesn't seem to be in a sharing mood, so I guess we'll just have to keep an eye on her.”

“But there have been no new Kaiju attacks,” Bruce said. “So everyone's taking the chance to rebuild and fix what they can.”

Tony managed a smile. “Betty's predictive model's still holding?”

Bruce's smile was proud. “Of course it is.” He checked the monitors and gave a faint sigh. “I'll go brief Hank that we'll be moving the patient.”

“How are the repairs going?” Tony asked Pepper as Bruce slipped out of the room.

“Thor's keeping everyone in line,” she said, “but it's been hard to keep them out of here.” She leaned over, her fingers gentle on Tony's hair. “The Spiders have taken to using the air ducts. I think we have Clint to blame for that.”

“We have Clint to blame for a lot of things,” Tony said. The cup was empty, and he held it out. “I've been briefed. I've drunk my water. I'm fucking calm. Steve. Now.”

Pepper and Rhodey exchanged a look. Rhodey rolled to his feet. “I'll go get a chair.”

“I can walk,” Tony said, but Rhodey was already gone. “I can walk,” he repeated to Pepper, who arched an eyebrow. 

“What's more embarrassing, Mr. Stark?” she asked. “To be wheeled in there, or you collapsing halfway there and having to be carried in?”

“I'll wait for the chair,” he said. But he pushed himself up, and with Pepper's help, swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He was breathing hard by the time he managed it. Staring at his knees, he braced his hands on the bed on either side of him. “Pepper? He's okay, right?”

Pepper slid an arm around his back, hugging him close. “He's going to be fine,” she said, her voice soft against his shoulder. “But they say that people in comas can still hear those around them, so I'm sure he'll be glad that you're finally visiting him.” She smoothed a hand up his back. “He must be worried about you.”

Tony rested his forehead on her shoulder, breathing in the soft smell of her skin. “I'm scared,” he whispered. His fingers sank into the fabric of her shirt. “Pep. I-”

The words died unsaid, but she seemed to hear them anyway. “Well, so were we,” she whispered back. “We love you, Tony, and Steve needs you, so you can do this. Right?” He said nothing, and she leaned back. “Right?”

Tony met her eyes, and she was fuzzy around the edge. He squeezed his eyes shut. “Right,” he said. He took a deep breath, and it hurt. His hand came up, covering the arc reactor. “How bad does it look?”

Pepper didn't reply for a long time. “I cried, when I first saw it,” she said, her voice soft. “Not because it's ugly. But because you planned this. You'd always planned this, and it hurt you, so much.” Her hands cuppped his cheeks, bringing his face up, and her cheeks were wet. “Stop. Stop hurting yourself. I can't bear it.”

Tony managed a wobbly smile. “I'm fine, Pep.”

Her mouth pursed. “You are a liar,” she said, but before she could say anything else, Bruce and Rhodey were back, a wheelchair between them, and Pepper turned away, swiping at her chees with the heel of her hand. 

The trip through medical was quick and quiet, and Bruce went through first, with Rhodey pushing the chair and Pepper bringing up the rear. When they reached the closed door to Steve's room, Pepper and Bruce waited at the door, letting Rhodey bring Tony in alone. Tony didn't really notice; as soon as the door opened, he only had eyes for one person.

Steve was still and silent on the bed, his face nearly the same color as the bleached linens, his long lashes still against his cheeks. But even from the doorway, Tony could see the subtle rise and fall of his chest, reassuring enough that Tony felt like he could breathe, too. 

“He likes visitors, I think.” Tony's head jerked to the side, seeing the other occupant of the room for the first time. Sam Wilson gave him an easy smile as he set a book on his knee. “How're you feeling, Tony?”

Tony ignored the question. “How bad?” he asked, as Rhodey pushed him up to Steve's bedside. He gave Tony's shoulder a squeeze, and then his footsteps retreated. Tony barely noticed them leaving.

Sam shrugged. “He's hanging in there.” Sam ran a hand over his close cropped hair. “He's strong. He'll pull through.”

Tony nodded. “You're visiting?”

“We sit with him. Mostly we read aloud.” Sam held up the book. “I'm doing, uh, The Hobbit. It's-”

“One of Steve's favorites,” Tony filled in, with a faint smile. “He doesn't really approve of the treatment of the dwarves, though.”

“Yeah.” Sam leaned forward. “Coulson's reading poetry. Walt Whitman, Mary Oliver, Wallace Stevens, Shel Silverstein, Anne Bradstreet, Robert Frost. Whoever he can find, mostly. Clint sings. Carol's reading 'Harriet the Spy,' and I think that Billy's doing 'From the Mixed Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler' now that he's finished 'Trumpet of the Swan.'” He paused. “Kate's doing 'Art of War,' and Hill gives him general PPDC briefings, so he gets things mixed up from time to time.”

Tony couldn't quite hold back a smile. “I'm sure he appreciates that.”

“Probably. He's a complicated guy.” Sam stood. “Look, I need a cup of coffee, you want to cover for me for a few minutes?”

Just looking at Steve's still, quiet face hurt. Tony nodded anyway. “I can do that.”

“Just give a yell if you need anything. I'll be back in a few,” Sam said. He stood. “Hey, Tony?” Tony spared him a glance, and Sam smiled. “Glad to see you up and around.”

Tony nodded, managing a thin smile. When Sam slipped from the room, pulling the door shut behind him, Tony looked back to Steve, at the wax effigy that had taken Steve's place in this empty room. It looked like Steve, but all the brilliance, all the steady strength and bright warmth was gone, leaving a shell behind.

Reaching out, Tony touched Steve's hand where it lay against the blankets. Steve's fingers were real and solid beneath his touch, if a little cool. Careful to avoid the tubes and needles that dotted Steve's wrist and arm, Tony covered Steve's hand with his own.

“I'm sorry,” he whispered. He cleared his throat, and tried again. “I'm sorry, Steve. I'm so, so sorry.” Squeezing his eyes shut, he leaned forward, half fell forward. “I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry.”

*

Bucky stabbed his fork in Tony's direction. "Are you kidding me? Really? This is what you're going with? You are delusional, Rogers. You are absolutely nuts."

Tony concentrated on his plate. "It's fine." He sounded sharper than he'd intended, a cutting note that made it clear that it was not fine underlying the words. He shoved a forkful of mashed potatoes into his mouth just so he had an excuse not to talk. 

Shoving his tray to the side, Bucky leaned forward. He braced his folded arms on the table as he pushed himself halfway across the table. "Pull the other one," he said, his voice low. "I'm in your head, remember, genius? And I am getting damn sick of the broken record in there."

Tony gave him a thin smile, and his face felt tight and strained. "I don't control what you get." His fork stabbed at his plate, hard enough to risk the tines bending. “I don't complain about the-” He felt his face heat. “The stuff I get about you and Natasha.”

“Uh-huh. You mean, the thoughts I have, the memories I have, of the woman I sleep with almost nightly?” Bucky propped his chin on his hands, his eyes open comically wide. “Are you comparing my long standing love affair with Nat with-”

“No, I'm not,” Tony hissed at him. “It's the drift, Barnes, and you get what you get. It's random access memory, what am I supposed to do about it?”

"Rogers. If it's random, what I get is a random sampling of what's going on in your head every day. Which just means that it's what you spend all your goddamn time thinking about, because we seem to get a lot on that particular topic. Just by percentages, how much of your brainspace is dedicated to thinking about Tony Stark?"

"Drop it. I'm not kidding." Tony tossed his fork down with a bit more force than necessary. On the other end of the table, heads tipped in his direction, and he managed a faint smile for them Still, he knew it wasn't good enough. Privacy around here wasn't even a luxury, it was an illusion. Bucky never seemed bothered by it. Tony envied his easy acceptance. 

“Steve,” Bucky said, leaning forward, his arms folded on the table. “You can't keep doing this. C'mon. What is the problem here?”

Tony stared down at his plate. “Bucky-”

“No. Seriously. It's not like he's unwilling, it's not like he doesn't-”

Tony's head came up. “Stop it.” He grabbed his tray and swung off of the bench, standing and heading for the door of the messhall. Ignoring everyone's eyes, he brought his tray to the washing station, handing it over with a tight smile. He made it to through the door before Bucky caught up with him. “Seriously,” Tony snapped. “Drop it.”

“Steve.” Bucky caught his arm, tugging him to a stop. “You're in love with the guy. Are you planning on just ignoring that?”

“You don't know what you're talking about, and you've got no right to-” Tony's head snapped around, frustrated. “Why are you pushing me on this?”

Bucky's smile was lopsided and off-kilter. “Because you are my best friend,” he said, his voice quiet. “Because I love you like a brother. And I want you to be happy. I want you to go and tell Stark that you love him, that you want him, that you moan his name when you're-”

“I will break your legs,” Tony said, his face on fire.

“Wow, now you're a prude?” Bucky said. “Steve. Seriously. This world we're living in? Lives are short. And we don't know when the world will end, if we'll live to see tomorrow. Every time we get into that damn Jaeger, we might not come back. So will you please go up there, tell Stark you want what he's got, and get the job done?”

Tony's eyes shut. “I can't,” he said, and it ached. It hurt. It hurt so much. “Look, just- Leave it alone.”

Bucky sighed. “He adores you. You know he does.”

“It's not-” Tony sighed. “I need him. I need him in my life, I need him, he's...” His eyes closed. “I need him.”

“And if you don't make a move, he's going to find someone else,” Bucky said and just the idea hurt. “Do you think you can cope with that?”

No. He couldn't. But he would. If he had to. Tony took a deep breath. “I'll cross that bridge when I get to it.”

“Steve. That bridge is coming up fast.” Bucky slapped him on the shoulder. “Kiss the man. For God's sake. The world's ending. You're not going to get a better excuse.”

Tony opened his mouth, and before he could get a word out, the alarms blared. “The world is ending,” Bucky said, and he grinned, wide and bright. “Kiss. Your. Boy.”

Tony came awake with a start, the memory so fresh in his mind that for a moment he thought the alarms were still ringing. But it was an echo in his ears, that was all, and he folded forward, his face buried in his hands. He was shaking, his skin cold and clammy with sweat, and it felt foreign, it all felt foreign, like it wasn't his skin, it wasn't his body. 

They weren't his memories.

He tossed the covers back with a violent motion, trying to get up, and his legs were shaking as he pushed himself to the floor. The arc reactor glowed through the thin fabric of his t-shirt, casting pale, icy blue shadows over every surface of the room, and he tried to ignore that, focusing on the physical, instead. Everything hurt, everything, and he focused on the ache in his chest, in his bones, because at least that pain truly belonged to him. At least that was his by rights, and not stolen.

Not the phantom pain of having lost something that was never his.

Tony scrubbed his hands over his face, ignoring how his skin felt wet against his palms. As soon as his eyes were closed, he could see things, remember things, playing out in the darkness behind his eyelids, and he wondered if this was what going insane was like.

Not knowing what else to do, he simply stumbled out of his room, heading for the only person he could think of who could give him answers. He was shaking when he reached Rhodey's door. He paused, only for a second, than, giving in to the need, he knocked. 

There was no response for a second, a very long second, and he hated the silence of the empty hall. He could hear voices in his head, echoes of old words and old memories, and he couldn't stand it. He wrapped his arms around himself, holding himself together with a force of will.

The door opened, and Tony blinked as the warm light of the room washed over him. Rhodey, wearing only a pair of gray pajama pants, took one look at Tony and grabbed for him. “What's wrong?” he asked, his face creasing as his hands closed on Tony's arms. “Tony, what's happened?”

Tony opened his mouth, and the only thing that came out was a sob. “Can I-” Behind Rhodey, he caught a hint of movement, and then Carol stepped into view, belting a robe over an oversized t-shirt. Tony's eyes closed, embarrassment sweeping over him. “God. I'm sorry, I-” He licked his lips, shaking. “I'm so sorry, I'll just-”

“Will you please get in here?” Rhodey said. He coaxed Tony across the threshold, his grip firm. “What's wrong?”

Tony's mouth opened, and closed, and he felt his face crumble. Rhodey steered him across the small room, pushing Tony down to sit in one of the desk chairs. Tony collapsed into it, so tired that he was shaking, and Rhodey crouched down in front of him, rubbing his hands up and down Tony's upper arms.

“Are you all right?” Carol asked. She pushed a hand through her hair, disordering the pale locks. “What do you need?”

“Look, I didn't know-” Tony said, and they two of them rolled their eyes in perfect unison. He stopped, a smile curling the corners of his lips. “Do all pilot pairings end up sleeping together?” he asked, and then regretted it, the thought of Steve a physical ache in his chest, the memories still digging their claws into his mind.

“Not all of them,” Carol said with a bright grin. “Some of them are related.”

Rhodey gave Tony a faint shake. “What's wrong?” he asked, and this time, it wasn't really a question. It was an order. 

Tony opened his mouth. And lost the words before he could even find them.

Carol yawned. "I'm just going to run down to the mess," she said, tightening the sash of her robe. "See what May's got brewing." She glanced at them, pale brows arched. "Want me to bring you back anything?"

"Coffee," Tony said, scrubbing both hands over his face. His skin was still clammy and cold, and it was hard to resist the urge to scrape at it with his nails until he could feel something again. "Please."

"Pretty sure coffee's the last thing you need right now," Carol said, her voice wry. "You'll just have to steal Rhodey's."

"Wouldn't be the first time," Tony said with a faint smile.

Rhodey stood, and gave her a light kiss on the top of her head, his hand sliding down the plane of her arm. "Thanks." 

She patted him on the ass. "I'll be back."

Tony couldn't help smiling as she pulled the door shut behind her. "So," he said.

"Don't even start," Rhodey said, giving Tony a distinct side-eye. "Do not."

Tony shrugged, and even as he did, he was grinning. "What? What did I-"

"I know you, and I know what you're going to-"

"I didn't say anything, really, you're way too sensitive, I mean-"

"I'm glad you survived," Rhodey said, holding up a hand. "And it would be a shame if I had to kill you."

"Touchy," Tony said, with a ghost of a smile.

Shaking his head, Rhodey sank down onto the edge of the bed. "What's going on?"

Tony opened his mouth, not sure what to say, or how to say it, and the sudden rush of words caught him off guard. He stumbled, staggered to a stop, but Rhodey was just waiting, his face familiar and his eyes kind, and Tony closed his eyes and told him everything. About the dreams, the memories, the strange, otherworldly moments of the sensation of not being in his own body, of the way he woke up, night after night, not knowing who he was, not being able to tell, for a moment, which memories belonged to him and which didn't.

At some point, Rhodey got up, grabbing a bottle of water from the cubby beside the bed and cracking it open. He pressed it into Tony's hand, and Tony clung to it, to the slick sensation of the plastic, to the way that it threatened to slip from his fingers. He sucked in a breath, and another, and the words came out with every exhale.

Rhodey never said a thing, just listening. And when Tony finally rattled to a stop, Rhodey just nodded. “Drink,” he said, his voice kind. “Okay? Feel a little better?”

“I think I'm going crazy,” Tony said, before he drowned anything he wanted to say in a splash of water. 

“You're not,” Rhodey said, right before there was a knock at the door. He leaned back. “It's okay,” he called. “Come on in, Carol.” 

Carol tucked her head just inside the door, her clear, sharp gaze darting between them. "I have the coffee," she said, and there was a clear question in the words.

"C'mon in," Rhodey said. "It's ghost drift."

Her eyes went wide. "Really." It wasn't a question. She slipped through the door, closing it behind her. There was a tray of mugs balanced on her hip.

Tony stared at Rhodey. "Ghost drift?" He leaned back, not amused. "I'm not a first year cadet, Rhodey, and I'm not interested in hearing the Corps' version of an urban legend. There's no such thing as ghost drift, the tech doesn't work that way. Once you're out of the Jaeger, the link's broken, there's no-" He waved a hand, his fingers cutting through the air. "No mythical connection between pilots."

Rhodey and Carol exchanged a look as she handed him a cup. "Ghost drift's an established, documented phenomenon, Tony,” Carol said, her voice quiet. She held out a steaming mug to Tony, who took it with a hand that wasn't particularly steady. 

“But most pilot pairs don't experience it until they've been drifting for a while,” Rhodey said, his hands braced between his knees, his fingers laced around the battered tin cup. “Took us, what?” His eyes cut towards Carol as she lowered herself down to the edge of the bed next to him, her legs folding under her.

“Almost six months,” she said. “We'd had things before that might've been, but...” She buried her face in her own cup for a second. “About six months.”

Tony stared at her, then at Rhodey, who nodded. “Bullshit,” Tony said.

Rhodey chuckled. “You are the only person I know who can experience something and still deny that it's happening.” He took a sip of his coffee. “Look, even if you write off the 'mythical connection,' as you call it, we're still not entirely sure how the drift works. The established scientific theory states that memories are exchanged during any time the neural bridge is established. Experienced pilots are used to ignoring these, and there's really no controlling it, right?”

“Thus the name. Random Access Brain Impulse Triggers,” Carol said. “R.A.B.I.T.”

“Don't chase the rabbit,” Tony said, repeating the pilot's adage as he rubbed a hand over his face. “Is this going somewhere?”

“If there's no controlling what you access across the neural bridge,” Carol said. “And we're trained to let most memories just flow through us. But they're trapped in the part of the brain that controls recent memory.”

“Thus making them fertile ground for dreams, just like everything else you experience during a day,” Rhodey said. “Dreams are just made of up the bits and pieces of what's lingering in your brain. It's how you handle those neural triggers.”

“This isn't bits and pieces of my day. This is someone else's memory, fully formed,” Tony said, and it was overwhelming. Just the thought. Of Steve still in his head somehow.”

Rhodey shrugged. “You wanted the scientific explanation, buddy. That's it.”

Tony took a breath. “And what's the non-scientific explanation?”

Rhodey cupped his fingers over his mouth. “The longer you drift with someone, the less you need to talk. You begin to realize that you can predict what your partner's going to do. You can move with them, even without the link.”

“Have you ever seen Clint and Nat spar?” Carol asked, leaning back. “It's like watching something in perfect balance. I swear, it's like sex, it's almost embarrassing to watch.” She grinned. “I just want to yell, 'Yeah, girl, get some.'”

“And ironically, they're one of the few partners that aren't sleeping together,” Rhodey said with a faint smile. He met Tony's eyes. “You know that what you had with Steve, even before this whole thing, that wasn't anything that most pilots find. Most are luckily just to find someone who was compatible enough, and that they trusted enough, to maintain a drift. What the two of you have is different, and very rare.”

Tony's head moved in a jerky approximation of a nod. “I feel like I'm losing my mind,” he said, and the words were so faint that he barely heard them, but Carol and Rhodey exchanged a worried look. He stood, and he was pleased to note that his legs could hold him. “Sorry. I should let the two of you get back to sleep.”

“Maybe you shouldn't be alone right now,” Rhodey started, and Tony waved him off, his head falling forward.

“Unless that was an invitation to join the two of you in bed, I don't know how you see that would work out,” Tony said, pushing himself up to his feet. “That's a narrow little bed you've got there, I'm not taking it, and I'm pretty sure that sleeping on the floor isn't a good idea, either.”

“I'd consider it,” Carol said, grinning as she leaned back on her elbows. “But I don't think that your heart's up for it, champ.”

Tony gave her his best arched eyebrow look of disdain. “Got a new ticker,” he said, tapping lightly on the front of the arc reactor that was rapidly becoming familiar in the middle of his chest. “I can take you.”

“Maybe,” she said, her voice doubtful, her lashes sweeping low. “But the two of us together?” She made a face, faintly pitying. “I don't think so.”

Tony had to struggle not to laugh. “We'll never know if we don't try.”

“Do I get a vote here?” Rhodey asked, his lips twitching. “Or do I just have to show up?”

“Show up and do what you're told, buttercup,” Tony said, and Carol was laughing out loud, her head thrown back, the sound warm and rich. Rhodey gave her a look, but there was such open affection on his face, in his usually guarded eyes, that Tony just wanted to hug the man. Instead, he just punched Rhodey lightly on the shoulder and headed for the door. “I'll get you penciled in on the schedule.”

“What, your sex schedule?” Rhodey said, giving him a look.

“I've got one. It's wide open right now.” 

Rhodey caught his arm, pulling him to a gentle stop. “You shouldn't be alone.”

Tony met his eyes, a slight smile on his lips. “I'm used to it.” It didn't come out the way he'd intended. He'd wanted flippant, he'd wanted arch. But it came out resigned and strained, and Rhodey's fingers tightened. Tony tugged against his grip. “Look, Rhodes, there's really-”

“I've never visited your little penthouse,” Carol said, bringing both their heads around. She was studying the ceiling. “But I hear that some of the fixtures are still there from your father's time. Right?”

Tony paused. “Wha-”

Rhodey picked up on what she was saying faster than Tony, though. “The couches down on the main floor,” he said, the big gathering area, with the couches.” He looked at Tony. “Those are still there, under the piles of paperwork and prototypes, aren't they?”

It took him far too long to make the connection. There was another large area, almost below the space he now used as a workshop, down a staircase that ran around the edge of the circular space. In that sunken living room of sorts, a set of couches had been installed, too big and too integrated with the space to be of any use anywhere else in the facility. It had been a meeting space, back in his father's time, with seating for a dozen or more around a central table. Tony had ripped the table out, reusing the metal, but the couches were still there, buried under a morass of boxes and paper.

“Yeah, but-” Tony started, but Carol was already getting up.

“I'll grab some sheets and blankets,” she said, yawning. “Rhodes, grab us some pillows, won't you?”

Tony shook his head. “There's no reason to-” 

Carol was already pulling folded sheets and blankets from a storage cubby, ignoring him completely as she tossed them onto the bed. “How cold is it up there?”

“There's still a central heater there,” Rhodey told her. “It's not exactly toasty, but we'll be able to clear out the debris in a couple of minutes and get it going.”

“How do you know it still works?” Tony asked.

Carol patted him lightly on the cheek. “I've got faith that you can get it going,” she said. “You're the resident genius around these parts, after all.”

Tony caught her wrist, and it was slim in his fingers, bones thin and delicate, so small in the cradle of his palm. “You don't have to do this,” he said.

Her eyes were clear. “Are you alone?” She brought up her other hand to cover his, to hold it in place against her skin. “For the first time in your life, do you understand what it is to be alone? With only you in your head?”

The words sent a shock through him, a jolt like an electrical surge, and he jerked back. She didn't let go, she didn't look away, she just held his gaze. “Are you alone?”

“Yes.” His lips barely moved, the word a soft exhale of air, and Carol smiled.

“We've got some experience with that,” she said, her head tipping towards Rhodey. “Right?”

Rhodey was smiling. “It's hard,” he told Tony. “The first time you drift, or rather, the first time you break drift. It's something everyone goes through. Every one of us.” He shoved a couple of pillows in Tony's direction. Tony took them, and Carol went to get the blankets. “You shouldn't be alone. So let's go.”

“This is stupid,” Tony groused.

“I think we should get Pepper,” Carol said.

“Don't get Pepper.”

“I think you're right, we should get Pepper,” Rhodey said, and, laughing, Carol tipped her head up for a kiss. “Let's get Pepper.”

“I hate you both,” Tony said, and they both laughed, because he was laughing, too.

*

“You missed your medical appointment.”

“Oops.”

There was a beat of silence. Then a sigh. “You didn't even try to make that sound sincere, Stark.”

Tony smirked down at his work, his pencil sliding across the paper with the finesse of a scalpel. “That's because I'm not sincere, Ms. Foster.” He flicked through the pages, his thumb rolling across the corners, flipping through them as he lined things up. “Not sincere at all.”

“You could at least pretend,” Jane said. “Let's go. Medical. Now.”

“Sorry, got a lot of work to get through,” Tony said, his shoulders hunching forward. It blocked his light, and he shifted to the side, trying to uncurl. Trying to force his spine straight again, but exhaustion weighed on him like a physical thing. He tossed his pencil aside and scraped a hand over his face. He could feel a couple of day's worth of beard beneath his fingers as he tugged at his jaw and he wondered if he looked like a hobo.

He sure as hell felt like one.

“Tony-”

Shaking his head, he reached for a drafting square. “Jane, what do you want from me? I'm eating. I'm sleeping. I'm working, but I'm staying off the Jaegers for now. I've got Pepper tracking my work, and Rhodey tracking my exercises, and Carol tracking my sleep, and May tracking my eating, and the whole goddamn world tracking my mental health, what do you want from me? What do you possibly think that McCoy can tell me about the situation that I haven't already figured out on my own?”

Jane reached over his shoulder and took the pencil away from him. “Why won't you come down to medical, Tony?”

“I have other pencils,” Tony said, refusing to give ground. 

“Why won't you come to medical?”

“You know what? Make me,” he gritted out.

“Mature. Luckily, I brought Thor.”

Tony spun his chair, and it was far too late, Thor was already looming over him, his arms crossed, his face set in a stern frown. “This is not well done of you,” Thor said, and he sounded honestly disappointed, like Tony had designed this response and now Thor was hurt by it, but the fact that Tony was behaving like an ass.

When in fact, he should be used to it. Tony ignored the stirrings of something like conscience. He hated it. 

Jane crossed her arms over her chest, her chin up. “So, are you coming quietly, or is Thor carrying your ass down like the whining little boy that you are?”

“I will do this thing,” Thor said, sounding a little apologetic. Not much. But a little. Mostly, he sounded amused. “Not willingly, but your health is most important to all of us. It must be guarded with care.”

“It's been a couple of weeks,” Tony said, and that was an exaggeration, maybe. A little bit of an exaggeration. Two counted as a couple, right? Or had it been three now, since he'd woken up? He pressed a hand over his eyes, trying to remember, but the days had passed in a haze of pain and the shallow wash of waking nightmares. Memories kept surfacing when he slept, and when he'd stopped sleeping, they'd started surfacing when he was awake. Little flickers of things, foreign memories of people he didn't know, emotions he'd never experienced. His own face floated through his mind, at the most inconvenient times, and with it, a feeling that swamped him and pulled him under.

He didn't allow himself to think about that feeling. He couldn't understand it, and he was already hovering on the edge of madness.

“It'll take months before you're fully-” Jane was saying, and Tony interrupted her.

“You never told him.”

Jane stopped, her head shaking. “I never told who, what?”

Tony caught his heel rattling against the leg of his stool. He stilled his leg, his fist pressed hard against his thigh, pinning it down. “He didn't know. He caught it in the drift. About when I went, when I went to see him after Bucky died.” He held Jane's eyes, and it was hard, it was the hardest thing he'd ever done, staring her down.

“I'm a medic, Tony,” Jane said, her chin up. “I know a lot of secrets about a lot of people in this base. And I keep all of them. No, I never told him, but I should've.”

“No, you shouldn't have,” Tony said.

“He never blamed you,” Jane said. “When you walked through that door, he was out of his mind, do you understand that? He had lost his partner, he'd lost his friend, and he'd been in the drift when it happened. He-” She glanced at Thor, who was standing silently behind her, his head down, his arms crossed. “He lost someone, and part of his mind went along with Bucky. He was injured, drugged, and he was out of his mind. He didn't know-”

“He was right.” Tony sucked in a breath, and another. “If I'd built that Jaeger better, Bucky would've-”

“No Jaeger could've survived what happened to the Winter Shield,” Thor said. “You know this to be true. That Kaiju would've downed any other in the fleet, and we would have lost both the pilots. Your work saved Steve, not once, but twice.” His head came up. “Were your heart not so invested in the question, you would reach the correct answer.”

Tony ignored that. “I didn't save him. Not this time. He's not-” He turned away, back to his plans. “He's not here, not anymore. And the last thing he saw was that moment. That's the last thing we shared. He...” His voice trailed away, and he looked back over his shoulder at them. “I wish to God I'd gone out with Wade.”

“You would not have lived,” Thor said. 

“Yeah, well, maybe that would've been better.” Tony wanted to throw something at the wall, wanted to overturn his desk, wanted to do something, anything to fix what could not be fixed. “Then at least Steve would still be fine.”

“You think he would be 'fine' should you have died?” Thor said. 

“At least he wouldn't have been in the fucking drift with me when it happened!” Tony snapped. “At least he wouldn't be-” He slashed a hand through the air, like a weapon that he couldn't bear to use. “I did that to him. You think I'm 'fine' with that?”

“I think you blame yourself overmuch for things no one else takes to be your sin!” Thor rumbled back, low and controlled, but with an audible threat.

Jane's eyelashes lowered, hiding her eyes, and she reached over, resting her hand on Thor's bulging bicep. “Can you give us a minute?” she asked, smiling at him.

Thor glanced at Tony, then back to her. “Of course, my love.” He leaned over, brushing his lips against hers, ever so gently. The touch was almost chaste, but his big hand cradled her chin, stroked along the length of her jaw, with an aching sort of familiarity. She was smiling when Thor pulled back, her eyes closed, her cheeks flushed She reached up and caught a lock of his hair between her fingers, giving it a tug.

“Do you want me to tell him?” she asked, a faint smile on her face.

Thor paused, and then he leaned in, brushing a kiss against her forehead. “That would be a kindness, thank you.” He reached out, his big hand closing on Tony's shoulder. “Listen to her, my friend. She knows many truths.” With a faint, somehow reassuring shake, he released Tony and headed for the door.

When the two of them were alone, Tony leaned back against the workbench. “What is this all about?” he asked, and it came out way more aggressive than he'd intended.

Jane took a seat, and folded her hands in her lap. The gesture was graceful and feminine, but her fingers were locked together, the knuckles white where they met. She met Tony's eyes without flinching. "How much do you know about how Thor ended up here?" she asked.

Taken aback, Tony felt his mouth open, then close again. "Not... Much," he admitted, and he was surprised to realize that was true. Thor had appeared years and years ago, and fit so seamlessly into the repair crews that Tony had never thought to question it. He'd known Jaegers, he wasn't afraid of hard work, and he was fearless on the repair floor, strong and steady and with a booming laugh that relaxed everyone around him.

"We had a lot of people volunteering, moving to the front lines, in those days. From the Atlantic coast, from the inland areas. Those who wanted to fight found their way to the Shatterdomes on the Pacific Rim." His lips quirked in a humorless smile. "That was back when we still thought we were fighting a war that could be won. Before the mass evacuations really kicked in."

"Yes. Back when places far from the eye of the storm still wanted in on the fight," Jane agreed. She took a deep breath, her lips parted. "There was a Shatterdome in Norway. Research and development, mostly, but a Thor was trained there. To build, and to pilot."

Tony looked at her, startled. "Really." There had been rumors, of course. There were always rumors, but Thor seemed too much a warrior for some for them to believe that he'd started his career with the PPDC in the repair bays. 

"Really," Jane said with a smile. "He was a pilot. A good one, too, even though he never made it into a fight. Test pilots are..." She paused, her lips pursing.

"Crazy?" Tony filled in.

"Fearless when they probably shouldn't be," she said with a smile. Her eyes were warm, her expression affectionate. "But he was. Fearless. He piloted with his brother, Loki. They tested new tech, they were the first ones in a lot of the designs coming out of Europe."

Her head dipped, her shoulders flexing as she took a deep breath. "He drifted with his brother, and then, one day, he saw something in the drift, something from his brother. He won't tell me what it was, he won't tell anyone what it was, not any more. But it was bad." She glanced up, and her lashes were spikey, but her eyes were clear. "Bad enough that he went to his father with the information.

"His father, coincidentally, was the head of their Shatterdome, and whatever Thor told him? It was bad enough that Loki was drummed out of the PPDC. Maybe out of the family." Her fingers flexed in her lap. "Thor exiled himself, I think. He won't talk about it, not much, but he left, too. Maybe they kicked him out, or maybe he kicked himself out. But he came here. And he's never gone home again. I don't think he'd risk the drift again, not even to save his own life."

Tony caught himself rubbing a hand over the planes of his face, scrubbing at his skin. "Well, fuck," he said, exhausted.

"Pretty much." Jane's eyes slid down, then darted back up. "The drift is uncontrolled. And uncontrollable. You see things, you experience things, through someone else's eyes. I've never done it. But I've seen the after effects too many times. I've seen the way that it shatters people, and I've seen the way that it draws them together. There's something there, there's something very real, beyond the mechanics of the system."

Her words were rapid fire now, excited. "There's something about the way that people fit together, the way that their minds fit, the way that they're able to handle the weight of each other's mind. The drift-”

“The drift nearly killed us both!” Tony snapped.

“The drift is the only way you have to get him back,” Jane said, her chin coming up.

Tony stopped. “What?”

She swallowed. “I think he's caught. When you made it back in, you were, well, for the lack of a better word, Tony, you were dying. He knew that. He heard us saying it, and he felt you.” She glanced away. “I think he felt you dying.”

Tony flinched. “Yeah, hard to miss.” He crossed his arms over his chest, and immediately forced them back down, biting back a curse. “Why does that matter?”

“I think that when they pulled the two of you apart, he was caught by a memory,” Jane said. “I think he's stuck in a memory feedback loop, that he's so integrated with a memory that he isn't aware that he's relieving it. Over and over, with no way to disengage and no way to know what's happening.”

Tony realized that his heart was pounding, hard and fast and far too sharp, beneath the shattered bones of his ribs. He took a breath, and another, trying to control it, trying to ignore the way that his vision had gone white at the edges. “Why...”

“It's happened before,” Jane said. “Not often. And almost always when the neural link is interrupted, violently. But there are cases on the books, I've done research into several of them, and I think-” Jane shook her head. “I think he's still in the drift, Tony.” She took a deep breath. “I think he is adrift.”

“Jesus FUCK,” Tony gritted out. He wanted to punch a wall. “Does McCoy-”

“I've talked to him,” she said, her head down. “But the few cases that there are, there's only one solution.”

Tony knew it, before she could say it. “I go back in.”

“And show him the way out,” Jane agreed. “The drift lost him, I think the drift can bring him back.”

“You think?”

“It's never been tried,” she admitted. “There's no precedent.”

Tony wanted to punch a wall. Instead, he stalked for the door. “Well, if there's one thing this 'dome is known for, it's setting precedents.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Parts of Thor's backstory are mirrored from the backstory of Herc Hansen in Pacific Rim, where he did pilot with his brother, and did find out something during a drift that resulted in his brother being drummed from the corps. It fit so well with Thor and Loki that I lifted it and applied it to Thor and Loki. No disrespect is intended and I claim no element of that as my own, but it was too perfect not to use in this AU. 8)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings for memories of past trauma, injury, blood and loss. Grief and pain are part of this, and two boys messed up from the drift who are a little handsy.
> 
> Thank you for your patience, and for sticking with me. 8)

“This is insane,” McCoy said, his arms crossed.

“Maybe not.” Bruce's head was down over the charts, his blunt fingers flicking through the pages. “His readings are...”

“Stable. His readings are stable,” McCoy said, scowling. “Something that we have a good chance of interfering with if we do this.”

“Stable isn't the same as recovering,” Jane said, her back up against the wall, her arms folded over her chest. “He's not getting better.”

“It's only been-”

“It's been weeks!” Jane said, her head falling back against the wall with an audible thud. “Hank, he's not getting any better.”

“But he's not degrading, either,” McCoy snapped, massaging the bridge of his nose with one hand. “He's not dying.”

“Is this even a discussion we need to be having?” Fury was a fixture in the middle of the room, utterly still, his hands folded behind his back. “Can this even happen? Is this even a damn possiblity, people?”

“A neural bridge between a conscious individual and an unconscious one?” Bruce looked up. His eyes darted behind the lenses of his glasses. “It's never been tried.”

“It's theoretically possible,” Coulson said. “If the two participants are drift compatible, the neural bridge will engage unless one is actively resisting.” He looked up from his own paperwork. “They're compatible. Among the most compatible that we've ever seen.”

“It's infringing on an unconscious mind,” Hank said.

“If Rogers rejects the drift, then Tony will fall out of alignment in a matter of seconds, the neural bridge will never be established,” Coulson shot back. “That's what happens with those who are not compatible, or those who aren't actively seeking to engage. Pilot candidates who panic, or recoil from the connection, the bridge dissolves without actually being created.”

“So you think it can be done,” Fury said, his eyebrows arching.

“I think that if anyone can?” Coulson's chin came up. “It's the two of them.”

“You run a very real risk of killing him,” McCoy said.

“At this rate, he's going to die if we don't,” Jane said.

“So what do you suggest?” Bruce asked. He pulled his glasses off and started polishing them with nervous flicks of his fingers. “What, that we drag Steve down into a Jaeger comm-pod and hook him up?”

“Letting an unconcious and active mind have access to a Jaeger isn't safe,” Coulson said. “There's no safety protocol that we can put in place, there's no failsafe we can trigger that would make that safe for the rest of the Shatterdome.”

“We've disconnected them before, for the candidates,” Fury said, his head rolling in Coulson's direction.

“It won't work here,” Coulson said.

“Why?”

“Their connection's too strong. If they form a neural bridge?” He shook his head. “We will not be able to break it.”

“Which leaves us with no options,” Fury said.

“There is one.” 

Everyone turned. Sharon Carter pulled the door to the medical bay closed behind her. Fury arched an eyebrow at her. “I'm sorry,” he said, his voice calm, “but I wasn't aware that you'd been invited to this meeting.”

She gave him a thin lipped smile. “No one did. But luckily I have no shame, because there is another option.”

“And what would that be?”

“An experimental Pons system.” She stopped in front of Fury, her arms crossed, her head tipped to the side. “The sort that the PPDC headquarters maintains.”

“And you're offering?” he asked.

“I've already put in the request. It'll be here in a few hours,” Sharon said.

“All due respect, ma'am, why?” Jane's quiet question filled the silence that fell. “You haven't been exactly forthcoming about your motives here.”

Carter glanced in her direction. “Does it matter?”

Jane considered that. “Yes.”

“No, it doesn't.” Just like that, every eye in the room was on him. Well, every eye but the ones that mattered. Tony ignored them all, staring down into Steve's still and silent face, half hidden behind the oxygen mask that covered his mouth and nose. Pale and perfect, always perfect, he slept on, unconcerned with the noisy visitors in his room. 

In the silence that followed, Tony reached out and pushed a lock of hair away from Steve's forehead with gentle fingers. “I really don't give a fuck why she's doing it. Just that she's doing it.” He looked up. “I don't care how much I end up beholden to you, I don't care what favors you call in later. I don't care if I end up as the Corps pet monkey. I don't give a fuck what the price is to be paid for this.”

His voice never wavered, never got louder. There was no anger to the words, no sadness, no resentment. Just a simple and measured statemtn of fact. “I don't care what the cost. I will pay it. If he lives, if I can fix this, fix what I fucked up?” He spread his hands, his mouth folding into a tight lipped parody of a smile. “Then the Corps can have my very soul.”

Sharon studied him for a long, moment, her face blank. “Mr. Stark,” she said at last, “the Corps already has your soul. You handed that over willingly enough, years ago.” She drew herself up, executing a crisp, polite salute. “You owe us nothing more. But we owe you far more than can be repaid.” 

She turned. “You should have what you need in a few hours.”

“And if I refuse to hand over what I've got?” Tony asked, and she stopped. Turned back to him.

“Then this war drags on. People die. People you love, people you value, people you've never met.” Her voice was calm, matter-of-fact. “A lot of people will die, Mr. Stark.” Her mouth kicked up on one side. “Which you know well. So you won't. You might limit the weapons you build for us, you might keep us from knowing how they work, or how to build more. But in the end? We are at war. And you are a soldier.”

“We are not soldiers,” Tony spat out.

“Then you do a very good approximation of one,” Sharon said. “Undisciplined. Unpredictible. At times highly promlematic. But if you are not a soldier, Mr. Stark, then why have you fought so long to be on the front lines?” Tony said nothing, and she continued on towards the door. “Good luck.”

As the door shut behind her, Tony's eyes cut in Fury's direction. The Marshall was leaning up against the wall, his arms crossed, his head down. “Well?” Tony asked, and Fury glanced up. 

“Oh, are you asking me for permission?” Fury asked, his voice tart. “That's long overdue, isn't it?”

“Not permission,” Tony told him. “I'm asking you if I'm going to have to fight you about this. If I'm going to have to-”

Fury held up one broad palm. “You'd find some way to do it, anyway,” he said wryly. “Best you do it with actual equipment, under actual supervision, instead of fucking around with something more likely to fry the both of you.” He gave Tony a slit eyed look. “Which we both know is something you'd pull.”

Tony shrugged, not bothering to deny it.

Fury shook his head. “It's on your head, Stark.”

Tony took a deep breath. “It always was.”

*

“Last chance. You sure about this?”

Tony glanced up and met Coulson's eyes. “Yes,” he said. He held out a hand, and to his relief, it didn't shake at all. Coulson studied him for a long,still moment, then he handed over the Pons relay.

“We'll be monitoring you from here,” McCoy said. He peered at Tony over the lenses of his glasses. “At the first sign of trouble, we will break the link.” 

“Give me at least two signs of trouble,” Tony said, and it was a weak joke, but it was a joke. He was proud of himself. “Three. Three would be better, give me three.”

“You'll get one,” McCoy said, his brows arching. “And you'll be thankful for it.”

“That's if you can get a neural link established,” Coulson said. He turned back to his instruments, his movements controlled.

“I'll get it established,” Tony said, as Coulson slid the matching Pons unit over Steve's head. Tony watched as Coulson adjusted it, his hands careful. Tony sank into the chair beside Steve's bed, trying to find a comfortable position. He wasn't sure it existed. 

“You can't force this sort of thing,” McCoy said, disapproving.

“If anyone can do it,” Coulson said, flipping through the controls, “it's these two.” His eyes flicked up, clear and calm. “Ready?”

Tony slipped the Pons unit over his head, settling it in place and letting it lock into place. He reached out, catching Steve's limp hand in his. Steve's fingers were cool to the touch, pale and boneless. Tony let his eyes fall shut. “Punch it, LOCCENT.”

The sense of disorentation was momentary, the searing pain unfamiliar. But even as he was drawing breath to scream, the memories hit him sideways, and he was tumbling headlong into the grip of the drift.

Blood dripping into dirty snow, blooms of bright red against the dingy white, splattering in a wide arc. Breathing hurt, blinking hurt, moving hurt, but there was no choice, there was nothing to do but move, or freeze to death. The wind was brutal against his skin, against his bared, gritted teeth, and he dragged his bad leg behind him, leaving a knife's slash through the snow.

Fingers scrabbling against the slick surface of glass, clawing for purchase and not succeeding. The bottle slipped through his hand, crashing to the metal grating. It didn't break, but the bang was enough to make him think his head was splintering apart, instead. He watched, with foggy eyes, as the liquid spread across the floor, soaking the paper there. The puddles of alcohol gleamed in the low light and staining the air with the smell of booze, sharp and stinging. It cut through the cotton wool of his head, and he tried to get up, tried to move, and crashed to the floor. Pain cut through the numbness, and he breathed in, the taste of alcohol and pain and bile on his tongue.

Paper crumbling between fingers, held too tight, rough against calloused palms. The lines shook, the pages shook, because his hands were shaking, shaking with fear or joy or relief, he wasn't sure, he didn't like to look at it that closely, he hated being afraid, he hated thinking of being afraid, but the lack of fear was sometimes worse, because it made the fear real. He looked up and found a familiar smile waiting for him, across the crowded room.

Feet pounding on the grating, on the floors, a thunder to equal the storm outside, and the lights flickered like lightning, throwing everything into shadow with each blink. He didn't pause, didn't even have to think about it, his memory filled in for his eyes when the lights failed, he could see the wires and the sequences, every relay and every connection, and sight was unnecessary, it made things easier, but he'd never cared about things being easy. Vision came and went in a sequence of images, photographs that changed every time the light came up, and his hands were still moving. Tools dug in, cut through wire and metal and skin, blood dripping along the panel, and he didn't pause, didn't waste breath on a swear or a prayer, he just kept going. Blue light flared with a whine that grew to a roar, and he was blinded by it, by the light where there had been dark. He never stopped working.

Bare feet scraped the surface of the mat, running full out, ghosting over the floor, and the swing came from his legs, from his back, from his shoulders, from his arms, wood in a brutal arc. The light played over the polished surface and it gleamed like metal for an instant, but when wood met wood, the sparks were only in his head. He was grinning, he was laughing, as he turned, thrust, swung, wood hitting wood, snapping and cracking with enough force to send a shudder through his bones.

The ribbon slipped between his fingers, the same color as her hair, and he let it rest against his skin for a second, just a second, until her lips brushed the bare skin on the nape of his neck. Her breath was warm, and he shivered, his fingers clutching on the ribbon, until she reached around him and pulled it out of his grip. She whispered against his ear, and the words were less important than the touch of the whisper against his skin.

His eyes shot over the crowd, checking, always checking, looking, where was he? He should be here, he was always here, always. It was too loud and too bright and everything hurt, but he kept moving forward, smiling and shaking hands and accepting the slaps on the back and the hugs and he didn't care. That wasn't fair, it wasn't. He cared, these people were his friends, his family, he loved them, all of them, but there was a face missing in that crowd and he could feel the sensation of panic clawing at his chest. He was always there, he was always there, except this time he wasn't. Coulson stepped out of the crowd, right in front of him, catching his arm and pulling him aside, and the words were lost in the cheers, but they were waiting, in the spaces in between. Waiting to ambush him and lay him low.

He watched them argue, because they argued every time. He didn't care, he didn't, at first he had cared. He'd tried to break them up, because it was funny. It was funny to watch Steve revert to the hothead, stubborn, damn-the-torpedoes-and-the-fists kid that he'd been so long ago. He was bigger now; the Jaeger program had done wonders for him, he was big and broad and almost abnormally strong. He was controlled now, he was fierce and patient and controlled, except where Tony Stark was concerned. It shouldn't be funny, he really was a loudy friend. But he would sit back and watch, and try to hide his smile, as the two of them went at it.

Everything hurt. Everything hurt, the flex of his breathing against his lips burned and he was in agony. He wanted to cry, needed to cry, but his body recoiled from it, from the thought of the tears on frozen skin. He wanted to escape from the pain, and there was no way to do it, the tubes and needles and slow drip of drugs promised escape, but he yanked them free, one after another, ignoring the chill of blood dripping from the punctures.

His feet were cold on the floor. The metal bit into his skin, scraping as his feet slid, his toes curling under, trying for purchase. He grabbed the bed, the wall, any piece of furnature that came into reach that allowed him to stay on his feet.

And he fled.

He didn't remember doing it, didn't remember the path through the dome, but he'd walked this route so many times that his body made the trip without any further prompting. He ignored the agony of movement, ignored the smears of blood that he left on the metal plating, ignored everything, because at least he was moving, at least he was still alive enough to move. He couldn't fight. But he could flee.

He hit the door with his whole body, his shoulder, his hip impacting against the metal, and he made a grab for the frame, anything to keep himself upright. His head fell forward, too heavy for his neck to hold up, and he heard his breath like broken sobs in his ears.

He felt the door open, swaying towards it, but he stayed on his feet somehow.

"Jesus FUCK."

For some reason, that made him laugh, low and uneven, and his whole body shook with it. "Sorry," he stuttered out. "Sorry, I- Sorry." He forced his head up, and Tony's face swam in front of him, pale and horrified, his eyes dark holes in the wash of his skin. There was something terrible in Tony's face, something empty and grieving that he couldn't understand, but he hated it. He felt his lips part, and everything he wanted to say caught in his throat, how he was alone, how he couldn't bear the pain, the loss, the fear, he couldn't be alone, he needed...

He choked out, "Sorry," and all the rest was buried in that word, unshed tears and grief and pain, and Tony's hands came out like a lifeline.

"Jesus, what are you doing, oh, FUCK, you're bleeding, Steve, God, you're-" 

Tony's hands closed on his face, cupping his jaw, tilting his face up. He leaned into the contact, desperate for the warmth. He exhaled, and for the first time it didn't feel like his breath was frosted over with ice.

Tony met his eyes, his face unreadable. "Did they let you out of medical? Of course they didn't, of course they have no idea you're gone, you're fucking bleeding and-”

“Don't.” Steve shuffled forward, just a step, desperate and wanting. “Don't make me-”

“Steve, you have to, you can't, you can't stay here, I need to bring you-”

Steve kissed him, he didn't know why, he didn't know anything but the desperation that drove him, and he needed he contact more than he needed to breathe. Tony jerked backwards, half a step, and then he stopped, his hands coming up. He grabbed hold of Steve's shoulders, and Steve shuddered, waiting to be pushed away.

Instead, Tony's mouth softened under his, parted, and he sobbed at how good it felt, his body sliding against Tony's. The kiss was desperate and awkward and painful, and he didn't care. When Tony finally pulled away, his mouth sliding out from under Steve's, his lips coming to rest on the skin of Steve's jaw.

“You need to go back to medical,” he said, and his voice was shaking. “Steve, you need to-”

“He's dead.”

Tony stilled. “I know,” he said.

Broken, lost, Steve repeated. “He's dead, he's dead, and I was drifting with him, and I know he's dead, but I can still feel him, I can still feel him in my head, I felt him die.” He stared at Tony, helpless. “Don't... Send me away. I can't- I can't...” He buried his face in Tony's shoulder. “I can't be alone. I... Can't.” 

His fingers clawed at the fabric of Tony's shirt, trying for purchase, trying to get a grip on whatever he could, whatever he could hold onto. “If I'm alone,” he whispered, “all I can hear is him. Dying.” 

Tony's arms went around him, holding on. “Okay. Okay.” He took a breath, and Steve felt it, their bodies tangled together, and Steve let him tug him forward. Step by step, their movements slow, Steve le himself be guided, his head down, his body shaking. He expected the door, the hallway, but instead, when his knees went out from under him, he feel into a bed that smelled of Tony. 

Tony's face swam in front of him, and he looked pained for some reason, his eyes blank and shuttered, but he dragged the blankets up over Steve. Steve caught his wrist. “Stay. With me.” Tony was already shaking his head, and Steve shuddered. “Please.”

Tony's eyes closed. “Move over.” He slid onto the mattress, and it was barely big enough for the two of them, barely big enough for two adults, but there was room. Steve curled up next to him, half on top of him, and tried not to sob.

He held out until he felt Tony's hand slide into his hair. Then he just broke, his face hidden in the curve of Tony's shoulder, his fingers clinging with impotent strength to the sheets, to the blankets that buried him. Tony held on, his cheek on Steve's and Steve curled close, as close as he could get, inhaling Tony's scent with each shuddering breah.

Tony's fingers smoothed over the nape of his neck. “You need to be in medical, Steve.” Steve said nothing, his face hidden in the crook of Tony's shoulder. “I- They'll come looking for you. You know they will.” 

Steve shifted closer. “Let me stay. Until they do.”

A faint sigh stirred his hair. But Tony didn't say no. He didn't say yes. He didn't say anything, and whatever hope that Steve had fostered, had nursed deep inside, died. He closed his eyes and rolled over, his eyes focused.

Everything hurt. And that was how it was going to be. 

“Stark, you are out of alignment.”

Tony jerked back into himself, into awareness, with a sudden, violent shudder. For an instant, his body felt foreign, alien, too small and too strong and too healthy. His mind swimming, he stumbled back, away from it, before he could lose himself again. “I'm here, give me a second,” he gritted out, and just like that, he was in the memory, but he wasn't part of it.

Shaking, Tony watched it play out, a mental undertow that threatened to swamp him. After the third or fourth loop, he almost lost himself again in the flow of the memory, almost felt himself get sucked in, sucked under. He had his own memory of this moment, of this point in time, and as he stood there, watching Steve's, it was so vivid that he could feel it tugging at his consciousness.

“Stark-”

“I'm here, I'm fine.” He took a step forward, and another, and he was in his battlesuit. He wasn't sure why, but he was. He reached up, felt the helmet on his head, and released it. The neural bridge didn't so much as shake, but he breathed the air, and tried to think.

He wasn't chasing the rabbit. This wasn't his loop. He could see the start, see the end, he was not in the memory. He wasn't lost.

Which meant Steve was.

Logic told him that it was impossible to interact with a memory, that the events, that the people, could not be changed. But he'd talked to Steve, before, his voice had reached Steve the last time he'd gotten pulled in. The last time he'd been lost.

"Steve?" He moved across the room, his room, the ghostly echo of the place they'd once inhabited. He crouched down beside the bed, boots scraping on the metal flooring. "Steve?" His hand came out, and he curled his fingers into his palm. "It's just a memory," he said. "It's not real. Not anymore."

Steve stared blankly at the wall, right through Tony as if he wasn't there. His eyes were broken and empty, shattered.

“Steve?” Tony's head fell forward, his breath shuddering through him. “Don't leave me. Don't stay here, don't stay like this. I need you.” He looked up. “Look, I know I'm no replacement for what you've lost, I get that, but I-” His voice broke. “I need you.”

There was no response. 

It was insane. And he didn't care. He reached out, his fingers just skimming the air over Steve's cheek. “It's just a memory,” he whispered. “Don't stay here.” His eyes closed. “Come back with me and make new memories, okay, can you just-” He swallowed. “Can you just do that for me? Please?”

He didn't think. He didn't try to reason it through. He just leaned forward, tilting his head, and he kissed Steve's lips. He wasn't sure what he expected, he didn't allow himself to hope. He just did it.

It was like there was nothing there. His mouth met resistance, but there was no sensation of skin or breath, of heat or life. It was just the echo of a touch, the memory of contact, and it was growing fainter by the moment.

Tony's eyes screwed shut, his teeth locked against a sob. “I love you,” he whispered against what should've been Steve's lips. “Please don't leave me alone.”

He held out for a second, for two, his mouth whispering out prayers that he didn't even understand, before he started to pull away. The brush of breath on his mouth was so faint that he almost didn't recognize it, and when he did, he almost didn't believe it. His eyes flew open, and he found Steve blinking back at him.

“What-” 

Tony might've been crying as he fell forward, as he collapsed, and this time, Steve's mouth was firm and warm and real against his. 

“Neural link has been terminated.”

The disconnect snapped back into his own body with a force that made him dizzy, and his mind scrambled, desperate, for the dissapating threads of the drift, but it was gone. Tony was cursing almost before his eyes were fluttering open. “No, no, no, fuck, no-”

“Tony?”

Tony turned on Coulson, rage sweeping over him. “What the fuck are you doing? I almost-” He ripped the Pons relay from his head. “I almost had him, why did you-”

McCoy grabbed his arm. “Tony-”

“Why the FUCK did you break the link, I had him, I almost-”

“Tony!” Coulson held up a hand. “I didn't!”

“I did.”

Tony's head snapped around, and the breath left his lungs with the suddenness of an impact. Steve grinned at him, his blue eyes bright over the rim of his oxygen mask. Tony huffed out a laugh, and another, as Steve dropped his Pons unit to the bed beside him. “As is the right of any pilot,” Steve said, his voice rough. 

“Nope.” Tony reached out, and Steve met him halfway, their fingers catching, tangling. “You ditched your drift partner, you bastard.”

Steve's eyebrows arched. “You ditched me first,” he pointed out, his voice wry. He let McCoy slip the oxygen mask free from his face.

“Oh, you would bring that up.” Tony leaned forward, bracing his forehead on their linked hands. His breath came out in a huff. “You with me?”

Steve's fingers squeezed his. “Yeah,” he managed, his voice soft. “Yeah, I'm-” 

“It's okay,” Tony managed, and his voice was shaking. “It's okay, it's okay, you're back, you're going to be fine, it's okay.”

McCoy's hand landed on his shoulder. “You have five minutes,” he said, his voice gentle. “And then we'll need you to leave so we can-”

“I got it,” Tony said, cutting him off. He tried to release his grip on Steve's hand, but he couldn't manage it. “Just... Give us a second.”

“Five minutes,” McCoy said. “That's it.”

The door closed behind them. “I'm locking that door,” Tony said, and Steve's fingers locked on his. “I swear, I'm going to-”

“Tony.”

“There's no reason to-”

“Tony.” Steve was grinning, his eyes cloudy. “I never blamed you.”

Tony winced. “I know, I just- I know.”

“No. You don't.” Steve's fingers squeezed tight on his. “If I was talking to anyone,” he said, his voice raspy and uneven, and Tony reached for the water pitcher beside the bed, “it was to me. I killed him.”

“The kaiju killed him,” Tony corrected. “Not you.”

“And not you,” Steve agreed. He paused, letting Tony bring a cup to his lips. “Not... You. I don't remember that, Tony. I just... Remember after.”

Tony felt his face flush. “You never brought it up again.”

“Neither did you.”

“I thought you'd forgotten. It. The-” Tony winced. “You know. It.”

Steve's cheeks flushed bright red, vivid against his pale skin. “The kiss.”

“That,” Tony said, relieved. He didn't want to let go of Steve's hand, and he wished for distance, he wished for anything to keep them apart, but it was gone now, too many memories in his head, too many emotions. “I thought-”

“I love you.” Steve grinned at him. “I think I've loved you, all along.” His grip was painful on Tony's hand. “I love you.”

Tony caught himself grinning like an idiot. “Yeah,” he agreed, leaning in. Just before he could brush his lips against Steve, Steve caught his shoulder, pushing him back. Tony recoiled, his heart dropping like a rock. “Sorry, I-”

“My breath has to be horrible,” Steve said, and Tony gaped at hm.

“I cannot tell you how much I don't give a fuck,” he said and Steve laughed, or started to laugh, because Tony's lips closed over his, swallowing the rest. 

He really didn't. And apparently, neither did Steve.

*

“I'm just saying, I can keep up, I can-”

“No,” Steve said.

“Clint thinks-”

“Kate!” Steve gave her a look. “You're seriously using Clint here? You're trying to use Clint to talk me around to something?”

She stopped. Back-pedaled. “Okay, so maybe that wasn't the best-”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Good night, Kate.”

“Can we discuss this tomorrow?”

He couldn't help but laugh. “I have plans for tomorrow, Kate. And so do you.”

“Sir-”

He stopped, right in front of the door, his free hand resting on the handle. He gave his most tenacious cadet a smile. “Kate. You are going to be an amazing pilot one day. You are going to be one of the greatest pilots we've ever seen.” He leaned his head forward, giving her a look from under the curve of his brows. “Just not quite yet.”

Kate's shoulders slumped. “Cap, I can-”

Steve pointed down the corridor. “Good night, Kate.”

Her lips curved in a perfect pout, but she bit back her disappointment. She placed her palms flat on her thighs and gave hm a quick bow. “Good night, sensei.” She turned and headed back the way they came, her long dark ponytail swinging in her wake. Her shoulders were up, her back straight, and Steve heaved a sigh.

“Kate.”

She stopped, turned back.

“It'll be Kamala,” he said, and for an instant, she didn't understand, she didn't realize, and then a smile like the sun broke over her features, and she was running straight for him. Steve's files hit the ground with a thud as he braced himself.

She flung herself into his arms with the same full tilt enthusiasm as she went after everything in her life. Steve caught her, hugging her tight. “Thank you,” she said, her face buried in his shoulder. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

“Don't thank me yet,” Steve said, and he couldn't quite repress a smile. “You still have to get through the preliminary rounds and-”

“I know, I know, thank you!” She set a smacking kiss on his cheek. “Thank you!”

Laughing, Steve set her back on her feet. “Do not,” he said, his voice stern, “make me regret this.”

She shook her head. “Never happen, absolutely, you will not regret this, Cap!” Without giving him a chance to change her mind, she turned on her heel and shot off down the hall, long legs chewing up the distance. “Thank you!”

“Already kind of regretting it,” Steve called after her, and she laughed as she disappeared around the corner. Shaking his head, Steve crouched down to collect his files.

“You know,” Natasha said from behind him, “giving in like that just makes her think that all she has to do to get her way is badger you.” She crouched down and shoved a stack of pages back into the folder befores he held it out to Steve.

Steve took it with a smile. “She wants it more than the rest of them,” he said. “She's willing to fight for it, for what she wants. It won't always work, but I think that should be rewarded, when possible.” He scooped up the last of the papers and stood, and Nat came up with him, handing him the pages she'd recovered. “Thanks,” he said.

She nodded. “If you're looking for your worse half,” she said, her eyes warm, “he's not here.”

Steve paused, his hand on the door. “Still down in LOCCENT?”

“Just came from there,” she said, and her smile had an impish charm. “He's arguing over the latest upgrades with Fury.” She tucked her hands into the pockets of her cargo pants. “I just left Clint down there.”

Steve's eyes flicked towards the ceiling. “Everyone is in LOCCENT, aren't they?”

“I wouldn't recommend attempting a romantic rondevous right now,” she agreed. “Most of the pilots are down there arguing if what he's doing is actually possible.”

“Is he listening to them?” Steve asked, grinning.

“Why should he listen to them? He's doing it, so whether they think it's possible or not is kind of immeterial,” Natasha said, her lips twitching. She tipped her head down the hall. “I was heading down to the gym, but I haven't anyone to spar with. Want company walking down there to roust him?”

“You just want Clint back,” Steve said, not fooled at all. But her presence was comforting and calming, some echo of Bucky in his mind that was always pleased that she was there, that she was nearby and safe. He opened the door to their quarters, trying not to look at the mess, and dropped his folders on the table next to the door before shuting it firmly behind him.

“What does it matter?” Natasha pointed out, her teeth flashing. “I get what I want, you get what you want, it's a mutually beneficial arrangement, Cap.” She gave him a light shove with one hand. “Besides, don't you prefer someone else deal with Clint?”

“I thought that was Coulson's job,” Steve said, and she laughed. For a moment, they walked in silence, nodding at the people who passed them. As they started down an empty corridor, Steve took a deep breath. “Are you okay with this?” he asked.

Natasha's eyes darted in his direction. “Okay with what?” she asked, brows drawing up.

“With me. And, well, partnering with Tony,” Steve said. It hadn't really mattered, in the end. They'd been used, sporatically, on patrols and test runs, but the Kaiju attacks were decreasing. No one was quite certain why, but Betty and Reed had theories. Reed felt that a decrease in the population of the Kaiju might have something to do with it. Betty had stated only that she thought humans had proven to be too much of a problem, but she'd refused to go into any more detail.

The breach was still open, still active, but as the attacks declined, they'd had a chance to set their feet upon the bedrock, as opposed to the shifting sands of war, and make plans. Steve, for the first time in a long time, was optimistic about their chances. He had something to live for now, something real and warm and in his bed every night.

Natasha's eyes went wide, and then a warm smile swept over her face. “Steven Rogers,” she said, and there was an echo of Bucky's voice in those words, that slightly sing-song mockery of a man who'd been precious to both of them. “Have you been worried about that all this time?”

Steve shrugged. “It feels wrong, on some level. Most of the time, I'm so glad for it, to have that back, to have the-” His fingers flicked in the general direction of his head. “To have the silence filled with someone else's voice,” he said at last. “But sometimes, it feels like he's drowning out what's left of Bucky's.”

Nat caught his arm, dragging him to a stop. “Look at me,” she said, and there was steel in her voice, and a sheen to her eyes. “He's dead, Steve. He's gone. And it's fine to remember him, but do it the way humanity has always remembered our dead. Don't let him steal space from the living, he wouldn't thank you for that.”

Her hands cupped his cheeks. “James Barnes would kick your ass if he heard you talking like this. He told me, he told me how much you-” When Steve tried to pull away, she leaned in. “He always knew about Tony, he always wanted that for you. And he would be the first one cheering you on, howling like the Irish banshee he was, that the two of you are out there in that old wreck of a Jaeger.”

“Don't let Tony hear you say that,” Steve told her.

“Well, don't tattle on me, and he never will.” Her smile was luminous and sad and an echo of something else he'd known, a lifetime ago. “Steve. Don't be a dummy.”

Steve laughed, his eyes closing. “He loved you so much,” he said, and his voice broke. He felt the tears on his cheeks and he didn't care. He opened his eyes, and she was crying, the track of a single tear along her perfect cheek. 

“He loved you, too,” she whispered. Her thumb swiped at his cheekbone. It was a maternal gesture, and he leaned into it. “I always envied that you could drift with him, but it was better, I think, that we had our distance. But there was never any doubt in my mind. He loved you. Maybe more than he did me.” She slipped her arms around his waist, hugging him tight. “And I loved that about him.”

Steve hugged her back. “Thank you.”

She was silent for a moment, and when she finally replied, it was with a smile. “Thank you. For being his friend for all those years. For putting up with him.”

“Hey, now,” Steve said, and he didn't realize that he'd done a spot on impersonation of Bucky until she burst into laughter, loud and bright. He grinned at her. 

“You,” she said, tapping one little fist on the underside of his chin like a faux uppercut, “are a problem. Luckily, you're now someone else's problem.” Without another word, she headed down the hall, and Steve fell into step with her. “I'm not responsible for anyone, it's how I prefer it.”

“I don't know, you've got Clint,” Steve said.

She gave him a sideways glance. “Coulson's got Clint,” she said, her lips curled up. "Really. He's got Clint."

It took him a second for Steve to get it. “Oh,” he said, then again, “Oh!” He looked at her. “Really?”

“Oh, yes, really,” she said, her voice droll. “Trust me. I drift with the boy.” One eyebrow arched. “Really. In every way possible.”

Steve choked on a laugh. “Should you be talking about this?”

One shoulder rose and fell in a shrug. “I miss Bucky,” she said at last. “I've lost a lot of things, a lot of people, but I miss him most of all.” She looked at him. “You're not a stand-in, you're not a replacement, but will you-” Her lips quirked. “I could use a friend who understands that, if that makes sense?”

Steve reached out, caught her hand. “I think,” he said, picking the words carefully, “I think I'll always love you. Not like he did, but I would-” He smiled. “Be honored to be your friend.”

One perfect eyebrow arched, her lips curling up with it. “My mistake,” she said, her head tipping away, her hair curling against the creamy perfection of her cheek. “I had thought that I already was your friend.”

“I didn't-”

Laughing, Natasha reached up, cupping the back of his neck and dragging him down. Her lips ghosted over his skin, light and gentle, and he felt his face heat. “I know you didn't,” she said, and she tucked her hand into the crook of his arm, weaving their arms together. “But you will always be my friend, Steve Rogers.” Her lashes swept down. “I have too much of Bucky still in my heart to be anything but your friend.”

“Tell me if I start acting like an overbearing older brother,” Steve told her.

“You'll know.”

“Yeah?”

Natasha's teeth flashed in a brutal grin. “I'll break your knees.”

Steve blinked. “Well, yeah, I think I can pick up on that kind of a hint,” he agreed, amused.

“Then you're easier to deal with than Bucky was,” Natasha said. “Sometimes.”

LOCCENT was busy, more than he'd expected, but it seemed like half the pilot corps were there, perched on the consoles or at the machines. Everyone had a cup of coffee or tea, and everyone looked over at him when he walked in, identical smiles on their faces. Steve paused, suddenly suspicious. “What?” he asked.

“Thought you couldn't make this briefing,” Fury said, arching an eyebrow. “Thought you had other plans this evening, Cap.”

“I do, but-”

“You missed him,” Sue said, her hands wrapped around her mug. Her blue eyes laughing, she leaned forward. “He just left.”

“He JUST left,” Jan said. She held up a hand, her index finger and thumb a bare fraction of an inch away from each other. “So close. But you missed him.”

Steve's eyes flicked towards the ceiling. “Of course I did,” he said, sighing. “Anyone know where he went?”

“Think he was heading to the repair bay,” Clint said, yawning so wide that Steve could see his back teeth. He was perched on a counter, his legs dangling down and his hands wrapped around a cup. Coulson was leaning up against the counter next to him, sipping from his mug. “Where is he always heading?”

“Don't you have somewhere to be?” Rhodey asked, grinning. Carol was leaning against his chair, her hip braced against the arm.

“Probably, but I need him,” Steve said. Shaking his head, he headed for the door. “Good night all, don't party too late.”

“Hold on, I'll go with you.” Jane stood and stretched. “Time to pry Thor away from his project and get him cleaned up.” She made a face. “Depending on what they've been repairing, that could take all night.”

“They're not supposed to be doing anything big,” Steve said, and even as the words left his mouth, he knew how stupid they were. Jane gave him a pitying look. “Yeah, I know,” he said, half amused and half resigned.

“If he starts testing on that damn suit of his-” Fury tipped his head forward. “There will be hell to pay.”

“Understood, sir.” Turning, Steve headed back out, waving over his shoulder. “Good night!”

“Hey, Rogers?”

He turned back to find Johnny grinning at him. Storm held up his mug. “See you tomorrow.”

Steve smiled back. “I'd better. See all of you.” He cut a look around the group. “I'll notice. I'm just saying. I will notice.”

Clint threatened to throw his cup. “Oh, God, we'll be there. What is your damn problem?”

“You're all unreliable,” Steve said, struggling to keep his face straight. He left to a chorus of boos and with Jane laughing at his side.

“Are you ready?” she asked him.

“Yes,” he said. When she gave him a sideways look from under her lashes, he gave a slight shrug. “Mostly. Tony's supposed to-” He shook his head. “He has been ducking this for weeks, and I don't understand why.”

Jane's head dtipped to the side, and Steve glanced at her. “What?” he asked.

She held up a hand. “Secrets, Cap. Everyone's got secrets.”

“I don't,” he said, and she laughed out loud.

“You have more than the rest of us.” Jane pushed the button on the lift. “But everyone in this 'Dome has secrets. There's nothing wrong with that, it's just how you maintain your sanity with this many people and this much chaos. You keep some part of yourself back, as much as you can when you're never alone.”

The doors opened, and Jane smiled up at him. “As much as you can when you drift.”

“JANE!”

“I take it back,” Jane said, with a superior little smile. “Thor. Thor is the only one here who doesn't have secrets.”

“I doubt that,” Steve said, right before Jane was caught off the ground in a massive bear hug. He laughed as Thor pulled her up for a kiss.

Slipping past them, he headed out to the repair bay, his head sweeping around. He took in the experimental installations with a practiced eye, curious about how they'd hold up in battle. Despite the hour, the floor was still busy, people moving in all directions, but there was no sign of the one he was looking for.

A flash of color went by over his head, and he tipped his head back. “Miles, have you-”

“Just missed him, boss-in-law,” Miles said, flipping himself around. One leg caught his weight on the wire, and he hung suspended upside down. Steve didn't ask how his hard had stayed on, he was pretty sure he didn't want to know. 

“That seems to be the theme of the night,” Steve agreed. “Any idea where he went?”

“K-Sci, I think.” Miles swung himself around. “Hey! Jessie! Where did Tony go?”

Jessica leaned over the railing. “Call me Jessie one more time, and your official name around here will be 'Miles to go before I sleep.'”

Miles laughed. “Touchy, touchy, J.J.” 

“I will have you sufficated in your sleep,” Jessica said. To Steve, she said, “Yeah, he left a few minutes ago. Sorry, Cap.”

Steve shook his head. “Not your fault. I'll catch up to him sooner or later.”

“Hopefully before tomorrow,” Anya said, grinning from behind Jessica's back.

“I really hope so,” Steve agreed. “Wish me luck?”

She held up her crossed fingers. “Good luck, Cap, we're rooting for you.”

“I'm telling Tony you said that.” Peter bounced down the ladder, his backpack swinging with each step. “He went to K-Science, and I'm heading there now, wanna join me?”

“Why is everyone so determined to keep me company tonight?” Steve asked, and even though it was a rhetorical question, Peter gave him a look as he jumped down to the floor.

“Because we cannot believe our luck and we really do not want you to panic and take off for greener pastures,” Peter said, grinning. Steve stared a him, non-plussed, and Jessica threw a towel at the back of Peter's head. “What?”

“Oh, my God,” Miles said. “You are a mess.”

“What?” Peter asked. He ducked another towel. “What?”

“March, soldier,” Steve said, nudging him forward by the shoulder. “Before you're the victim of friendly fire.”

“I hate everyone,” Peter said, cheerfully enough.

“I understand, really.” Steve passed by Thor, bracing himself for the inevitable pounding on the back. Thor didn't disappoint, slapping him on the shoulder with gusto. 

“Tomorrow, my brother,” he said, his teeth flashing, one arm around Jane's shoulder, hugging her close. 

“Tomorrow,” Steve agreed. Shoving Peter ahead of him, he got on the lift. “Make sure they all wash, okay?”

“Not our responsiblity,” Jane said.

“We have a hose,” Thor offered. “'Tis not the preferred method, but easy enough.”

“Don't kill anyone,” Steve said, leaning out of the lift. 

Thor scoffed. “If such a thing is enough to kill them, then they do not deserve to be amongst our ranks.”

“I'd like to request a transfer to K-Science,” Pete said.

“No,” Thor told him. 

“Damn,” Peter said, and Steve laughed. As the elevator started moving, he grinned at Steve. “Tony is going to-”

“Watch it, mister,” Steve said, his lips twitching.

“No, really, this is great, this is really great,we're all very happy. For you. And-” Peter paused. “For the PPDC.”

“I'm not sure where they come into play here, but thank you.” Steve glanced at him. “You really want to move to K-Science?”

Peter's shoulders rose and fell in a quick shrug. “Not move. I like, I like my people, I like my job, y' know? But if Tony can do both, I think, I want to do that, too.”

“Tony's a special case,” Steve said, and it wasn't that he was disapproving, it was just that he was cautioning against things that might not work out.

Peter nodded. “So am I.” He looked at Steve, his grin bright and infectious.

Steve returned it. “Yes. You are.”

Betty barely waited for Peter to clear the doorway before she dumped a stack of books into his arms. Peter fumbled for them, and with Steve's help, got the pile under control. “Hello,” she said, already moving on.

“Let me guess,” Steve said, looking around the cluttered space. “I just missed him.”

“Tony?” Bruce looked up from his microscope, his glasses gleaming in the nest of his hair. “Sorry. Yeah.”

Steve shook his head. “Okay,” he said, amused. “Any idea-”

“He had his bo,” Betty said, her eyes dancing. “Maybe...”

Steve nodded. “Got it, thanks. See you all tomorrow!”

“Good night!” Bruce said, already back at work.

“What's tomorrow?” Reed asked, and if anyone answered him, Steve didn't hear it. He was a man on a mission, and he was getting sick of this game.

*

“Mr. Stark,” Steve said, his head back, his hands tucked in his back pockets. “You are late for our meeting.” He leaned over and unfastened his boots, knowing he shouldn't give in to the temptation and being unable to resist. He was weak, sometimes. 

Often when it came to Tony.

Tony stretched, his back a sleek, perfect arch as he swung the pole over his head. “I'm going to have to reschedule,” Tony called, his teeth flashing in a brilliant grin. “How's tomorrow looking for you?”

Steve's eyebrows arched. “I was supposed to be getting married,” he mused. “But my fiance is apparently unreliable, so who knows if that's actually happening.”

Tony laughed, swinging the bo over his head and around his body, following the line of the blow with his feet, letting them dance over the surface of the mat. He moved with such grace that for a moment, it took Steve's breath away. “That's gonna take, what, an hour? Two? Fuck it, we'll have plenty of time to meet up for dirty sex afterwards.”

“That wasn't on the schedule at all,” Steve said, trying to keep the grin off of his face. “The schedule called for moving furnature.”

“I lied abou the furnature. So you'd show up.” Tony turned, bo sweeping low, just skimming the mat, and with a flick of his legs, he planted the tip and threw himself up through the air. “Really, the schedule called for dirty sex.” His feet came down clean and strong, and the bo swung around, stopping a bare inch from Steve's cheek. 

Steve smiled. “I have been chasing you all over this 'Dome,” he said, and one foot slid across the mat, his body weight shifting with it. Tony pulled back, mimicking the movement, smooth and easy. “Which, I take it, was your intent.”

Two steps forward, and a step to the right. Tony matched him, move for move, shift for shift. “Happy coincidence of being a very busy man,” he said, his teeth flashing.

“Orchastrated coincidence,” Steve corrected, his body sweeping backwards as Tony flicked the bo in his direction. One step only, and a sway of his hips, and the staff passed just under his chin, close enough to let him feel the air part in its wake. “Highly orchestrated.”

“Maybe,” Tony allowed, and he lunged. Steve caught the bo with the flat of one hand, turning it aside, the force dispelled with a flick of his arm, and then they were crashing together.

Steve hit the mat with a thud, and before he could roll, Tony was on top of him, straddling his hips, his staff braced in both hands as he pinned Steve to the ground. He was breathing hard, his cheeks flushed, his eyes brilliant, and he grinned down at Steve. “So, about this marriage thing...” he started, and Steve laughed.

“I'm having second thoughts,” Steve admitted. When Tony arched an eyebrow at him, he caught the edges of the bo and pushed up, easily lifting Tony's weight. 

“That so?”

“Care to reassure me?” Steve asked, tilting his head up as they discarded the bo together, their fingers finding and catching each others. 

“I suck at being reassuring,” Tony said.

“I don't know, I've always found you to be amazingly reassuring,” Steve said, going up on his elbows for a kiss.

Tony met him halfway, his mouth catching Steve's. “Hi,” Steve said, sliding a hand around Tony's waist to the small of his back. “You're in a good mood.”

Tony grinned at him. “As it turns out, I am, thank you for noticing.” He kissed Steve again, a light brush of his lips. Steve leaned into the contact, his fingers tightening on the fabric of Tony's shirt, drawing it up. “You're late,” Tony whispered against his mouth.

Steve groaned, his head fallng into the curve of Tony's neck, burying his face in Tony's shoulder. “You weren't where you were supposed to be. Again.”

He felt Tony's laugh, through his whole body. “Listen, I was here, where else was I supposed to be?” he asked, his voice arch.

Steve leaned forward, and whispered, “Moving furnature with me. Making our apartment liveable. So that when we get married tomorrow, we can-”

“That hellhole is not ever going to be liveable,” Tony grumbled, and Steve paused. 

“Tony-”

“I don't want to move furnature,” Tony said, throwing his head back. “Can't we just- Not?”

“Okay,” Steve said, sitting up, bracing his hands on the mats on either side of his hips. “So you're moving in with me?” He grinned. “Might I remind you how small that bunk bed mattress is?”

“Sex on the floor isn't that bad,” Tony said. He pressed closer. “Or here. How often did you end up getting turned on in he middle of our sparring sessions?”

“Never,” Steve said.

“Liar,” Tony whispered in his ear. “I've been inside your head.”

“I have to teach here,” Steve said, trying to be sharp and failing because he was getting turned on now, more than he wanted to admit. “Why are you so deterimined to avoid this?”

“Because it's-” Tony sighed. “Look, it's not important. It's just small, and ugly, and I thought that I'd have...” He paused.

“Have what?” Steve whispered. He nudged Tony's head up.

“Better for you,” Tony said. He gave Steve a thin smile. “I mean, before. Before the breach, if the breach hadn't happened, I would've had something to offer.”

Steve stared at him. “You,” he said at last, “are a damn idiot.”

“Well, thanks,” Tony said, trying to pull away,and Steve caught him, his arms going around Tony's shoulders, pulling him in.

“Is this about money? About being a Stark?” Steve asked, torn between amusement and frustration. “Is this about-”

“It's about having something to offer,” Tony snapped.

“That's you. All I want, all I've ever wanted, was you, is you,” Steve said, calm about it. “All the money in the world doesn't matter a damn.” He leaned in, his forehead against Tony's. “You've spent your fortune keeping us alive, protecting your home, feeding your people. You could've profitted from this, from this war, from people's misery, and you didn't, you wouldn't.”

Tony didn't say anything, and Steve sighed. “I love you. And I want to move in with you, even if you refuse to move the couch.” He stroked a thumb over Tony's cheek. “So are you going to pout here, or are you going to come home with me?”

“It's a pit,” Tony grumbled.

“It's ours,” Steve said. He leaned in. “And you are mine.” His lips brushed against Tony's. "So we can go home and move furniture, or we can discuss the latest plans for your flight suit that I found pinned to the wall." He grinned. "Your choice."

Tony stared at him. “Fine,” he said. “But I want to spend our last night as single men having really raunchy sex.”

Steve grinned at him. “Do you expect that to stop when we're married? Because if so, I've got to object to that.”

“It's different, when we're married,” Tony said. He wiggled free and stood. “I'm going to-”

“We're not going to have drift sex,” Steve said, his face flushing. “No. Absolutely not.”

“What,” Tony said, grinning, “Is the point of having a Pons system that doesn't involve a Jaeger if we don't use it to-”

“No, Tony.”

“I ask for one thing on my wedding registry, and you say no. How is that fair?”

Steve laughed. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, and the world isn't ending yet.” Tony grinned at him. “Let's make the most of it, shall we?”


End file.
